New Dawn
by Sentimental Star
Summary: You can save one life, but you may lose another.  Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...[Time Travel] [Independent!Harry] [HHr]
1. Ye of Little Hope

_**Disclaimer:**_I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

_**Author's Note #1:**_ This is the same person as _storysinger2300_—whatever glitch affected this account has been fixed, and so I can actually use it again (thank goodness)! My _Chosen Destiny _fic and_Bond's Formation_ fic will accordingly be moved over here. I'm actually in the process of adding both those stories—as well as the corrected content of my other stories—to my _Sentimental Star _account now. Thanks for bearing with me!

_**Author's Note #2:**_ Hi, folks! I had tried this for a while under a different penname (Aelinwyn, for anyone who might have read it there)—mostly because I thought I might be incorporating slash in this story and because I wanted to experiment. Suffice it to say, I got impatient with my experiment. As to the slash aspect, still not entirely sure I'll incorporate it. If I do, I'll give a warning out ahead of time.

As it is, I'm really excited about this story. The format's a little different than what I usually use, but I've been mulling over this story and reworking it ever since the fourth _Harry Potter_ movie came out. Now that I've finally posted at least the first portion, I can't wait to see what people think. It is not _HBP_ or _DH_ compliant, although there may be spoilers for both. Objects, ideas, etc. from those books may appear in this fanfic, but they may not be quite the same as they are in J.K. Rowling's stories; just thought I'd give everyone a heads up. This is officially alternate universe, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny'—_Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter One: Ye Of Little Hope_

It was no longer rare for him to have dreams. They could actually be more accurately called nightmares. After the insanity that had been his Fifth Year at Hogwarts, he wondered if he would _ever_ sleep properly again. Therefore, when he shut his eyes that night after he, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were shooed up-stairs, he—not for the first time since their fallout—wished he'd tolerated Snape and learned Occlumency. It would have fixed so much.

As slow tears leaked out from underneath his closed eyelids, the soon-to-be-Sixth-Year Gryffindor turned away from Ron's bed and burrowed his face into the pillow. He finally fell into a restless sleep like that some forty-five minutes later and his psyche—not Voldemort this time—did not fail to disappoint:

(Sequence Beginning)

_Dark. That is all things ever seem right now. Dark. Painful. Lost. Chilled. He did not dare let anyone get too close and his heart wouldn't let anyone get too far. They were the last of the Resistance, the army in the shadows fighting a losing battle._

_Severus Snape had died just days before, murdered in cold blood by Voldemort, for a relic he did not even properly possess. Their last link to Hogwarts…gone. Any who had not fled the school at the first in-surge of Death Eaters, or who had not yet graduated, were surely killed. And that meant McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick. Hagrid. Neville, who had returned as a Professor to help protect the students. Luna, who would have been a Seventh Year. And Merlin knew who else; the death tallies were still coming in._

_He had cried bitterly when he'd heard the news of their last spy's death. Because he'd grown to respect the man, knew how Dumbledore could have trusted him and why. Had finally understood, and acknowledged, just how much the former Potions Master and one-time Headmaster had given up for their cause. Had given up for _him

_The Slytherin was—had been—undoubtedly, one of the bravest men he'd ever met. _

_He'd snuck into Hogwarts when the news had arrived, hoping to salvage something of their people, if not the bodies. He'd found the bodies thrown haphazardly across the floor of the Great Hall. At least fifty of them, and more were being dragged in as he watched, safe (or as safe as he could be in the giants' den) underneath his Cloak._

_So many._

_An alarm spell had been set in Hogwarts—indeed, in the Headmaster's very office. And Army and Order alike would rush to answer it if it went off._

_Snape—Merlin bless the man—must have somehow, in some way tripped it._

_But they had been too late._

_Hollow and aching was the comfort of being alerted, then, especially when faced with the identities of those dead: besides Luna, Neville, and the respective Heads of House, there was Mad-Eye Moody. Colin Creevey. Tonks. Fred Weasley…Remus. And so many others he knew._

_His stomach liquidized and he retched, right there on the cold stone floor of the once-grand Great Hall._

_What worth was there to this? Why fight…when heartbreak and death were all you were repaid with?_

_He retched again—so sick—and yet not able to muster the willpower or the courage to move. Retched and retched and retched, 'til there could not possibly be anything left in his stomach._

_Why, oh, why, oh, why…_

'_**Light-child!'**__ the call rang crystal clear in his mind, the voice like bells and storms and hope. __**'Light-child, do not despair! I will help! Light-child…!'**_

(End Sequence)

And sixteen-year-old Harry Potter woke covered in sweat, with a half-strangled gasp, to the pale early morning light spilling across the pillow of his bed at Grimmauld Place.

He lay there, all panic and fear, grief and pain, as nausea thundered through his veins.

Rolling over and out of bed, Harry staggered to his feet and barely made it through the door of the bathroom before he started retching again. This time, it actually made it in a toilet bowl.

Once he was quite sure nothing was left in him, he muttered a cleaning spell, before slumping wearily against the porcelain contraption. As soon as his stomach calmed, he stumbled upright and splashed his face with cold water, making sure to rinse his mouth.

He knew it was still quite early, and that no one was likely to be up at this hour. The thought of a shower after that horror was appealing, and he made haste to rid himself of the dream's final vestiges.

When he stepped out a full hour later and dried off, he still could not hear anyone stirring; nor did even Molly Weasley appear to be up. "What time is it, anyway?" he muttered to himself.

Wrapping the towel around his waist and gathering up his pyjamas one-armed, he quietly made his way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

Ron snored away, undisturbed.

With an inaudible sigh, the conscious sixteen-year-old slowly started dressing, taking his time: pushed his glasses on; pulled over his head his two-sizes, too large t-shirt; pulled on his boxers and ridiculously baggy shorts, which actually fell more mid-calf than just below the knees as they were supposed to.

With a faint, disgusted snort, he wondered if he would be able to buy some new clothes at Diagon Alley when they went shopping for their school supplies. Or, for that matter, if Dumbledore would let him go shopping at _all_ this year.

Having no wish to remain up here any longer, Harry pattered softly down the staircase and into the Sitting Room. Kreacher, the Blacks' rather surly House Elf, was nowhere to be seen.

/Thank Merlin for small miracles,/ Harry thought fervently. He did not feel ready to face Kreacher just yet.

Perching himself on the armrest of the nearest armchair, the young Gryffindor glanced around the parlor with a sad, pained frown.

He did not want to be here. Not without Sirius. Not with the memories of Sirius haunting every corner of every room, every corridor, and every doorway. It didn't feel right.

/Actually,/ Harry mused, slumping back against the chair/a lot of things don't 'feel right.'/

The ancient grandfather clock in one corner chimed six-thirty in the morning.

With a tired groan, Harry shut his eyes:

(Sequence Beginning)

_The stones are cold—freezing, in fact—underneath his knees. They scrap his skin and bruise his knees, but he quite simply can't bring himself to care. He is so tired—so unbelievably tired…_

(Sequence End)

Harry jerked his eyes open, shivering, to find he'd been moved from the chair to laying down on the sofa with a blanket tucked snugly around him. Confused, the Gryffindor glanced up, only to find himself on eye level with one of the Weasley twins.

He expelled his breath in a gasp, flashing back to the horribly vivid image of Fred Weasley sprawled lifelessly across the floor of the Great Hall.

Before he was even consciously aware of it, his hand shot out to grip the twin's shirt. "Fred," he forced out thickly, regardless of whether this was actually George.

As it happened, he'd said the correct name.

"Present," the bemused twin replied, approaching somewhere between amusement and astonishment. Not even the twins' own mother could tell them apart sometimes.

When Harry dropped his head against the older teenager's chest, trembling ever so faintly, Fred grew concerned. Settling his hands lightly on the younger Gryffindor's shoulders, he asked softly, "Harry, mate? What is it?"

Disregarding the fact that this was one of the only times he'd seen a Weasley twin so serious, Harry stubbornly shook his head.

Fred frowned thoughtfully, and wrapped his arms carefully around Harry's quivering shoulders.

There was a muffled sob into his chest.

The twin sighed sadly—and a trifle uneasily. George was better at comforting than he was, and he often found himself wondering if it was because his twin was actually about five minutes older.

Shrugging slightly to himself, still frowning, Fred started gently rubbing the smaller Gryffindor's back.

Harry sobbed dully for another ten minutes. By the time he calmed enough to pull back, George had joined his twin on the floor beside the sofa, both sets of dark eyes serious as they gazed back at him. "Sorry," came the semi-strangled croak, as Harry scrubbed ineffectually at the drying tear tracks.

As Fred stared down with a furrowed brow at his somewhat damp shirt, George pressed a handkerchief into Harry's hands. "Here," murmured.

At a watery "Thank you" from Harry, Fred looked up and frowned at his brother in mock-thought. "You know, George, I think Harry might have ruined my shirt."

When George glanced up, askance, Fred pointedly nodded at Harry—who looked horrified. The other eighteen-year-old's mouth opened in a silent "ah." Then he grinned…and made a big show of closely examining his brother's turtleneck. "You think Mum should take a look at it?" asked accordingly.

"Hmm. What about that Muggle contraption—a…a whatcha-ma-call it…a clean dryer?" speculated by Fred.

"Dry cleaning, I believe, Fred," George corrected brightly. "Oy! Maybe we can make that into a prank—the Dryer Cleaner? the Clean Dryer? Why run your son's clothes through it when you can run your son through it?"

"Brilliant!...Except Mum'd like it too much," his twin replied with a devilish grin.

A thick laugh. "All right, all right, I get it. No harm done," Harry chuckled gratefully as with a quickly murmured spell, Fred's shirt was as good as new.

"That's right, Harrykins," Fred answered with a pat to his head. "No harm…"

"…No foul," George completed with another pat—this one to his shoulder. Both twins had plopped themselves on either side of Harry where he remained—sitting upright now—on the couch, keeping him firmly ensconced between them.

Within moments, Harry found two unwaveringly intense gazes locked on him.

"So…" Fred began.

"…What's up?" finished George.

Harry grimaced good-naturedly at both the question and the twinspeak. "Dreams," came the cryptic answer. It was all he would give.

The twins exchanged glances over Harry's head, sensing his reticence. "Well, brother dear, looks like we have our work cut out for us," Fred remarked with a large smirk.

"Indeed we do, dearest brother of mine," George agreed glibly, with an equally wide smirk.

Harry, suspicious (and rightly so), frowned.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

(Forty-Five Minutes Later)

A roar from one irate Ron Weasley woke the rest of Grimmauld Place's inhabitants that morning. "FRED! GEORGE!"

Fred and George, where they stood in the kitchen helping Harry make—of all things—breakfast, exchanged identical wicked grins. "Looks like ickle Ronniekins found our good-morning present," the younger of the two twins remarked blithely to George and Harry.

Harry coughed to hide his laughter.

The twins quickly schooled their faces into carefully pleasant expressions as a Slytherin-green-with-silver-streaks younger brother burst into the kitchen. Harry resolutely faced the sink, trying valiantly (and mostly succeeding) to keep a straight face.

"Good morning, brother ours," the twins chimed.

"GOOD MORNING? _GOOD_ MORNING?! WHAT THE SODDING HELL DO YOU CALL _THIS_?" Ron snarled in return, accusingly pointing a finger at his…ahem…makeover.

"Oh! George, look! What a lovely color!" Fred remarked brightly, attempting to cover a snicker.

"_LOVELY_?! It's _green_! _Slytherin_ green!" Ron howled.

"We know that, brother dear," George replied with a gentle pat to his cheek.

"And you know, I heard from Angelina that our very own Hermione likes that particular shade of green," Fred added with a wicked smirk. "I mean _really_ likes it."

That was the very last straw. Ron turned beet red and roared, "_YOU_!" lunging forward as he did so.

Fred grinned widely and darted away, as Harry finally laughed.

George, where he'd been cooking a large batch of scrambled eggs, danced out of the way (still holding the spatula) as Ron and his twin tore past the stove. "Oy, watch it!" he exclaimed around a laugh of his own. Then grinned as Harry finally snickered.

As Fred, with Ron in hot pursuit, sprinted through the great double-doors of the kitchen, George deftly tossed the scrambled eggs in their skillet. "So this is how the Muggles do it?" he asked, amused by the novelty of using an actual tool to make their food.

"Yeah, and how your Mum does it, too, I'd wager," Harry replied from where he stood at the sink, thoroughly rinsing the berries—strawberries, blackberries, currants—by hand. "No conjured food tastes _that_ good."

George silently noted that he seemed much happier and much more relaxed, and deciding that he and his twin had done good, gave another deft flick of his wrist—this time with his wand in hand—landing the completed and steaming eggs on a conjured plate. "Magic does have its merits, though," he pointed out with an impish grin.

"You'll get no argument from me," Harry replied with a warm laugh, swiftly removing the berries in their colander from underneath the water flow.

It was as he was shaking out the excess water that George felt brave enough to venture a question: "You didn't fall asleep out there, did you, Harry?"

"What?" Harry turned to face George, puzzled, before comprehension dawned in his eyes and he turned back to his task, "Oh, you mean on the sofa," he clarified, spreading the berries out on a long swath of cloth. "No. I mean, not on the sofa, anyway. I did go to sleep in my own room, but…"

"…You had your dream and woke up at some ridiculous hour of the morning," George put in dryly, shaking salt and pepper over the eggs.

Harry bit his lip and gave a slightly sheepish smile. "Pretty much," he agreed, patting the berries dry before moving on to the cutting board where he began to slice apples. "I came down after taking a shower and sat in the den. That armchair, near the couch?" He stopped slicing as something occurred to him, and he leveled a curious stare at George, "In fact, I distinctly remember sitting in that chair and nowhere else. Did you or Fred move me?"

George shook his head. "No. You were already on the sofa when we came down."

Harry was baffled. "I couldn't have moved myself, could I? Was there anyone else up when you woke?"

George shook his head again. "Not that I know of. Except…" he frowned, trailing off, and gave the strawberries a few good, hard, chops.

"Except…?" Harry prodded.

The twin sighed. "You won't like the answer."

Harry rolled his eyes slightly. "Just tell me already. It's not like Snape was the one who…" He trailed off at the affirmative grimace on George's face. "You're joking," he finally managed after a few moments, looking rather…ill.

"Told you you wouldn't like the answer," the twin retorted, as they resumed the chopping.

"Yes, but…_why_? He _hates_ me, George! He has absolutely no reason whatsoever to help me out like that! Does he even know what kindness _means_?"

George sighed again. "I agree, it's odd, but, Harry, Snape is still human, he still has a good heart—twisted and bitter though it might be."

Harry stopped cutting and gave him a look of clear disbelief.

George lightly knuckled his head with a small grin. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I say only what I've seen. You know how many times he could have done something to us? To you? To me? But he hasn't—especially not to you."

Harry frowned, and turned back to his cutting, but George was gratified to note the frown was a thoughtful one. He himself did not know why he was going to such lengths to defend Snape who truly could be a git at the best of times, but the man _had_ given he and his twin extra potions lessons when they'd asked, not to mention this past year with Umbridge and Filch: the number of times he'd re-directed the duo's attention, the delicate hints he'd dropped…George even suspected he hadn't been particularly pleased with some of his Slytherins' decisions to join the Inquisatoral Squad.

He shrugged. "I'm not saying you have to like him, Harry—hell, _I_ don't. But…I respect him. To some degree, anyway."

When Harry grimaced at him, George just smirked lightly. Finished chopping the strawberries, he conjured a large bowl and dumped them into it. Harry swiftly followed him with the sliced apples, blackberries, and currants.

"You know, Mum's liable to pitch a fit when she finds out you've made breakfast," George pointed out, mirthful.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't just me."

George grinned even more. "True. But she'd spend half the meal poking and prodding at the food if she found out we were involved in any way." He looked mock-sorrowful. "So sad, really. We make some of the most marvelous drinks."

Harry started chuckling. "Maybe I _should_ check the food."

George gave an outraged gasp. "You don't trust us, either? I'm hurt! Hurt, I tell you!" And he made as if to faint, when…

"GEORGE AND FRED WEASLEY!" came Molly Weasley's shout from the den.

George straightened immediately, shooting a sheepish grin at Harry. "Oops. Guess it's time for me to scoot. I must find Fred and attend to that rather urgent business we have. And of course, all business takes place at the shop…"

Harry laughed again. "At least take breakfast with you," gesturing to the plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit salad.

"Will do, partner," George replied cheekily, quickly conjuring two containers and piling food into them both while Harry watched with a wide smile.

Just as George was preparing to Disapparate, Harry spoke up, still smiling but now serious, "Hey, George?" When the twin turned to him and hummed affirmatively, the sixteen-year-old continued, eyes glinting affectionately, "Thanks, and thank Fred, too."

The older boy merely ruffled his hair playfully, "Anything for you, little bro."

Then he disappeared, leaving Harry to contemplate his fate with a warm glow that had absolutely nothing to do with the stove in front of him.

_Tbc._


	2. The Sphinx's Riddle

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

_**Rating:**_ PG/T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'—_Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Two: The Sphinx's Riddle_

(Two Hours Later)

True to George's prediction, Mrs. Weasley had not been pleased to discover that Harry had been up early fixing breakfast—of course, Harry hadn't told her the _real_ reason he'd been up so early. He could not forget that she had been fully intent on keeping him a child—and so, did not allow anyone to supply him with potentially vital information.

He loved the Weasley matriarch dearly, but…he was no longer a child. He wasn't sure if he'd ever been, really…

Sirius had understood that. And had tried in every way to give him the information he needed, believing him old enough to handle it. If he had to make a guess, it would be that that was the one thing Snape and Sirius had always agreed on. The man won points with him there.

Sighing, Harry arranged himself more comfortably on the stone wall surrounding the decrepit Black Gardens behind Grimmauld Place.

A potential explosion had been averted when a properly colored Ron, and a very complimentary Hermione and Ginny had immediately sat down around the large kitchen table and eaten. Mrs. Weasley, seeing no reason to pursue the subject further (and guided to a seat by Mr. Weasley), had let him off—this time.

Things had been boisterous, happy, and busy for a little while…until Remus had entered, badly cut up and bruised, attesting to the horrible night he'd had as a werewolf, and asked for Severus. When no one could say where exactly he was, the werewolf had smiled sadly and sat down between Harry and Tonks—who'd dropped by before heading for the Ministry that morning, which, as she had so dryly put it, resembled an overturned ant hill.

"Fudge may have been incompetent," Tonks had informed him darkly as she passed some scrambled eggs over to Remus and literally forced him to eat, "but the new Minister, while competent, is a narrow-minded git and a complete arse."

When Harry had asked who the new Minister was, she had mentioned someone name Rufus Scrimgeour. Former Head Auror and Ministry lackey through and through. He was not a member of the Order.

Harry grimaced. Even the man's name sounded unpleasant.

Things had pretty much gone downhill from there.

Ron and Ginny started bickering. Remus barely ate anything, and without a word, returned upstairs. Silence had followed in his wake and Molly had begun clearing dishes. Arthur got up, saying he needed to see Dumbledore about a matter of some import. Tonks had excused herself to leave for the Ministry (although, in fact, she headed in the direction of the stairs). And Harry suddenly hadn't felt like eating anymore.

When he himself had left the kitchen, not even Hermione followed.

That had been half an hour ago and now he was out here, left to contemplate his thoughts:

None of this sat right with him. He felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut—legs and arms akimble, head hanging at an awkward angle. For Harry, the war had begun his Fourth Year with Voldemort's return and Cedric Diggory's death, and that had been bad enough.

Now Sirius was dead and Remus did not look to be long in following.

Tightly shutting his eyes, Harry felt silent tears trickle down his cheeks. /Sirius is gone; my only family gone. What worth is there to this? Even if by some miracle or stroke of luck I defeat Voldemort, I'll have no one to come back to. Remus won't long survive Padfoot's absence—or at least Moony won't. Ron and Hermione will probably get married and eventually move on with their own lives. Luna and Neville…I don't know where _they_ will be in two years time…and good old Harry Potter, if he survives the encounter with Voldemort, will merely be the Savior again. Merlin, what wouldn't I give to have Sirius back…/

At a smaller, slim hand touching his shoulder, Harry tensed, his own hand straying towards his wand.

"Harry?" a girl's voice asked, startled.

The sixteen-year-old scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hey, Herm," he groaned out.

He sensed Hermione hopping up beside him on the wall. Even without looking, he knew she held a book in one hand.

"How long were you really up?" the girl demanded quietly.

Reasonably sure all last traces of his tears were gone, Harry opened his eyes and turned to his female best friend where she sat next to him, already starting to open the book. "For at least two hours before anyone came down. Well, except Snape," he muttered.

With a sudden movement, Hermione snapped her book shut. "_Who_?" she demanded.

Harry sighed. "You heard me. According to George, he was the only one up besides them…"

The girl frowned thoughtfully, peering down at the cover of her book. "That's odd. He hardly ever stays long at Grimmauld Place after an Order Meeting, even when it's the day for him to deliver potions or Wolfsbane. And since school's ended, he's stayed on at least twice." She glanced speculatively at Harry. "I wonder if he's worried about you…or maybe Remus," she muttered.

Harry gave a skeptical snort. "Possibly. But do you know how unlikely that is?"

When Hermione just raised an eyebrow at him, Harry sighed again and crossed his arms, turning away from the girl to pensively contemplate the gardens sprawled out around them. "I _suppose_ that's not too unbelievable," he muttered at last, scowling slightly. "He might _possibly_ be not as much of a git as we thought he was. I am a student, after all—a student he hates, but a student all the same."

"Not just 'a' student, Harry," Hermione corrected with a small smile, "_his_ student."

Harry turned back to her, frowning a bit. "Never thought of it like that before," he mumbled. A hand came up to rub his neck as his frown deepened and his brow furrowed. "It would explain a lot, actually."

The girl cast him a quizzical glance. "What, exactly, does it explain?"

Giving one final sigh, the male Gryffindor quietly related all that had occurred early this morning, elaborating some on the dream.

Hermione was fretting by the end of it, book forgotten. "Oh, Harry!" she cried. "You really should have woken me up!"

Harry, completely nauseated by this point from retelling it, scowled tiredly at the girl. "'Mione, no offense, but it was bloody five o'clock in the morning!"

"Harry!" she exclaimed reproachfully. The boy winced. "That doesn't matter—you _know_ that doesn't matter! If I have to have the twins set a monitoring charm on your bed, I will!" she threatened lightly.

Harry was just grateful she hadn't mentioned Mrs. Weasley. "Yes, Herm. Whatever you say, Herm," he retorted sweetly.

Hermione gave him a playful scowl and lightly bopped him over the head.

He chuckled weakly.

Silence soon settled around them as the two sat together on the wall, neither inclined to say anything, until Hermione broke it by venturing quietly, "How are you feeling, really, Harry?"

"Truthfully, Hermione?" he muttered, rubbing his face. He sensed rather than saw the girl's nod. "Like hell," finished.

The Gryffindor girl bit her lip, but said nothing, allowing Harry room to explain.

"I don't want to be here, Herm," stated bluntly. "I want nothing to do with Dumbledore, Snape, or the Order; Voldemort, Malfoy, or Death Eaters. I just want to grieve for Sirius in peace. Is that wrong? Is that too much to ask?" By this point, tears were once again streaming down his cheeks. "I got him killed, for Merlin's sake! Can't I at least say I'm sorry?"

He expected Hermione to hug him, smile at him, or even shout at him. What he did _not_ expect was Hermione to full out _slap_ him.

"You take that back this _instant_, Harry James Potter!" Hermione near-shrieked.

Harry stared at her in unconcealed shock, hand pressed against his offended cheek and his mind far clearer than it had been in weeks. Tears slowly rolled down Hermione's own cheeks.

And for the second time since they had first become friends, Harry realized—and remembered—that Hermione…was a girl. /Why am I thinking about that _now_?/ he wondered.

But Hermione seemed determined to make him see sense. "Do not even _begin_ to think that Sirius's death lies solely on your shoulders! Were you the one to cast the Killing Curse or push him into the Veil? Were you the one to lock him in this house or send Death Eaters after the Prophecy? Were you the one to rush headlong after your godson without thinking first? Harry, frankly, there is more than enough blame to go around. Yes, perhaps you should have worked harder at Occlumency, but this is hardly entirely _your_ fault!"

Her tirade at an end, the Gryffindor girl glared at her companion. Harry simply stared back at her, blinking fiercely against tears.

In vain, as it turned out.

When he started crying—finally—without shame, Hermione was there to hold him.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

(Thirty Minutes Later)

Hermione may well have sat out there in the gardens with him until Harry himself decided to go in, but half an hour passed, and the girl was called in by Ginny who had OWLs this year and needed some extra help in Transfiguration.

Jumping down from the wall, Hermione—book once more in hand—standing on tiptoe, dropped a small kiss on his cheek. Startled, Harry quickly turned to stare at her, hand on his cheek.

She smiled sadly at him. "Try not to brood so much, Harry, and come in soon," she requested softly…then hurried along the garden path to join Ginny at the top of the back steps before the boy could get so much as a word in edgewise.

One last concerned glance from Hermione, and the two girls disappeared inside the house.

Left alone, Harry finally muttered crossly to himself, "I was not 'brooding.'"

'_Really? Then what were you doing, light-child?'_ came the fondly contemptuous, rather amused, voice from behind him.

Harry jerked in surprise, stiffening from head to foot. The voice was the same, the address was the same, but it _couldn't_ be…/This is _not_ my dream!/ he thought fiercely, trying not to panic.

He did not let it show, however, and slowly, with pain-staking caution, turned to face the direction the voice of thunder, bells, and hope had come from…

And yelled. Promptly toppling backwards off the stone wall. Or tried to yell, at least—it actually came out half-choked as he hit the ground with an unforgiving crash.

A momentary flash of pain was all Harry noticed before he started scrambling backwards, intending to put as large amount of space as possible between himself and the creature that had since leapt onto the wall with all her feline grace and currently sat there, crouching, long almond eyes glittering.

Finally, his Gryffindor courage reared its head and Harry managed to gasp out, "What's _your_ riddle?"

The Sphinx smiled, her tawny gold tail snapping playfully. _'Just this: I am no more dangerous than a snake's hiss. I asked you once which creature you would be unwilling to kiss. You answered 'spider' and proved yourself a fighter. So in order to make things right, I come now to aid you in your fight. Translate how you will this admission; I come to offer you a special mission.'_

Harry immediately sat up straighter, face very pale. "You're the Sphinx from the Tri-Wizards' maze, aren't you?" he whispered.

With a slightly larger smile, the Sphinx bowed her head and lightly leapt down from her perch to glide closer to him. Harry gulped, and tried to stop the hammering of his heart. If indeed she meant him no harm, as it seemed she did, he had no reason to be worried.

Of course, that reasoning did little to help him in the present situation. She was getting awfully close to him. "What do you mean, 'make things right?' What special mission? What are you doing here?" As she chuckled softly in his mind, he added, "And weren't you actually speaking to me in the Maze?"

She chuckled again, and paced in front of him a few times before gracefully settling down on her haunches. _'Sphinxes are naturally telepathic, young one,'_ she explained, _'What you heard in the Maze, that form of speech is mastered only by those of us who wish to learn it. I learned it as a defensive measure, as well as a political one.'_

"Pardon, ma'am, but political?" Harry asked, curious despite himself and starting to relax without meaning to.

'_I am Nefertiti, light-child. What does that tell you?'_ the Sphinx answered, tail flipping forwards and back.

Harry blinked at her before frowning slightly. "Nefertiti…" Comprehension dawned. "Wait. Isn't that an ancient Egyptian queen's name?"

'_Yes. And former Pharaoh. I am a reincarnation of her,'_ Nefertiti acknowledged.

"Then the book's right," he muttered, remembering what he had read about Sphinxes in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. She nodded. "So…you're the Queen Sphinx?" Harry continued, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she had approached him of all people. At her second nod, he burst out, "But why _me_?"

She regarded him with big, solemn eyes. _'Why you? Why anyone? I was doing more than testing your logic in that maze, light-child. I was assessing your heart. Ask me not how, it is a secret I cannot reveal to you. I only consented to participate in that Tournament because __**you**__ were in it.'_

"You do not usually involve yourself in mortal affairs, I take it," Harry finally managed some moments later, utterly stunned. He desperately wanted to ask what she had found, but somehow thought that it would not be proper.

The Sphinx sniffed. _'Certainly not. They are too petty for my taking.'_

"Well, at least we agree on something there," Harry mumbled.

Nefertiti's eyes gleamed with momentary amusement. _'So we do, light-child. But come, you have asked me about this mission I offer you, yes?'_

Harry went on high alert. "Yes, ma'am."

With a sigh, the Sphinx settled herself, chin resting on her great front paws, as serious as she had been just minutes ago. _'I would not have offered this to you had I found your heart lacking in any way, light-child. You may choose to see this as a mission. Or you may prefer, instead, to view this as a chance. And a rarer chance there never has been. What do you know of Sphinxes' magic, young one?'_

"Not much, I'm afraid," Harry replied with a quiet sigh. "The book mentioned nothing about your magicks or what they did."

Nefertiti smirked slightly. _'Well, books do not know everything, do they, light-child? Especially the books of mortals. What would you say if I told you that a magick of ours is Ancient Egyptian spells, and that there is one such spell that allows the caster to reverse time?'_

Harry's emerald eyes went wide as he grasped the implications of that statement. "I would say that's bloody brilliant," he breathed. Then swallowed. "And you're offering this…to…to _me_?"

Nefertiti's tail whipped slightly in amusement, her great almond eyes regarding him with much warmth. _'That is what I offer, light-child.'_

The young Gryffindor dropped his face into his hands, vigorously massaging his forehead. "Bloody hell," he muttered weakly. "So…so if I do this…" he snapped his head up, eyes widening even more in sudden realization, "I can save Sirius," whispered.

He was caught off-guard when the Sphinx's dark eyes saddened. _'I cannot promise you that, light-child. His is only one life. If I recall correctly, others—many others—have lost their lives in this fight of yours. And may __**yet**__ lose their lives in this fight of yours.'_

Harry gulped softly, remembering abruptly his dream. Just how many had died in that? Fifty? But Nefertiti was speaking again, _'You must weigh carefully your options, light-child. And foresee as many possible outcomes of your decision as you can. You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change, and completely rewrite Destiny. The knowledge of this will be heavy, light-child, and you must bear it with you if you seek to fix the past. This decision cannot be hasty, and you have only this day and this night in which to make it. If you accept, you must meet me here just as the dawn breaks tomorrow, for this is one of the only times at which I may perform the spell.'_ If possible, Nefertiti's eyes grew even sadder. _'And if you accept, realize that not only are there certain restrictions I must adhere to, but that before I even perform the spell, you must pay the spell's price.'_

She finished, and a flabbergasted Harry promptly collapsed backwards onto his elbows, staring up at her in apprehensive hope.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Harry went through the rest of the day in a daze. No one could seem to snap him out of it. He would tell no one, not even Hermione and Ron, what had him so preoccupied. Finally, Ginny pointed out (rather dryly) that he could hardly sneeze without someone asking what was wrong and that they should leave well enough alone.

Harry barely acknowledged her.

When supper came, he ate it without saying a word, and did not even fully register the fact that the shepherd's pie Mrs. Weasley had made had nutrient potions laced throughout.

When the supper dishes were cleared away, Harry just sat there at the kitchen table, staring ahead into the distance without really seeing anything.

The others, even the twins who had returned for meals, stepped on eggshells around him. George had had to restrain his twin—twice—from demanding what was wrong. Fred had, in turn, headed off his mother and Ron. Hermione had, on two separate occasions, nearly burst into tears because she remembered their conversation from earlier in the day and feared he was much worse than he had been then. Ginny finally appeased her by reminding the older girl that she had threatened Harry with a monitoring spell, and now was as good a time as any to set it. So they, and the twins, went upstairs to attend to it…

Harry paid them no heed.

Eventually, Ron followed the girls and his brothers upstairs while his father led their mother into the sitting room.

Harry never moved. Not even to blink. Playing over and over again in his mind the part of Nefertiti's speech that struck him the most: /_'His is only one life…You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change, and completely rewrite Destiny.'_/

It was as the grandfather clock in the parlor struck nine o'clock in the evening that Harry finally snapped out of his stupor. /How the _hell_ can I make a decision like _that_?!/

Further reflection on the matter was prevented when Molly Weasley's high-pitched screech sounded from the sitting room, "Severus! What in Merlin's name happened to you?!"

Curiosity and an unacknowledged flicker of concern spurred Harry into action. Jumping to his feet, he hurried to the threshold of the kitchen to peer into the den…and ended up barely restraining himself from bursting through the doors, horrified.

His teacher was, to put it mildly, a mess.

What visible skin there was (and usually, that was very little) was marred by cuts, bruises, lacerations, and gashes of all sorts. It was not life-threatening, but it was certainly very, very bad.

"Molly, for Christ's sake, let me sit _down_ at least before you start your harping," the Potions Master hissed irritably. Harry could hear the pain he tried to hide in his voice.

When Mrs. Weasley moved between Harry's vantage point at the door, and the man who presumably had arrived by Floo, he lost sight of the Head of Slytherin. "You absolutely will not sit down, Severus Snape, until we reach the kitchen. Then I can get some healing potions into you!" the Weasley matriarch snapped, hands on her hips.

"Molly," and Harry was shocked silly by the definite note of childish petulance he heard in his grown Professor's voice, "I can barely stand!"

"None of that," she huffed, and Harry saw both Weasley parents gently heft the man between them, clearing his direct line of sight, "Come with us, now."

The young Gryffindor quickly scrambled backwards, away from the door, as they grew steadily closer.

He stood there like a fool for a full minute before snapping out of it and deciding to make himself useful.

He was standing at the sink, running a hand towel through the warm water when they entered, none of the three acknowledging his presence. He did not think they were even aware of it. Certainly, the Professor wasn't, else he'd have sneered and made some insulting remark.

If there was one thing Harry had learned about the dark man, it was that he hated being vulnerable.

Once Snape was seated at the kitchen table, Mrs. Weasley charged off to find the potions (fortunately in the opposite direction from where Harry stood). Mr. Weasley started to follow her…when the other man grabbed his wrist.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mr. Weasley wince.

He tensed and whirled around…noticing the urgent, almost wild look on the Potions Master's face (what he could see of it, anyway). "Arthur, it is of the utmost importance that I speak to Albus first thing tomorrow morning, if not tonight."

Mr. Weasley's eyes widened slightly at that. "Severus, if it's important enough that you got _this_ beat up over it, then I think the Headmaster should be able to accommodate you. In fact, I believe I shall contact him by Floo right now."

Snape released him with a heavy sigh. "Thank you, Arthur."

Mr. Weasley nodded and, turning sharply, made his way back out into the sitting room. Never once did he notice Harry's presence.

Neither did Snape, for as soon as Mr. Weasley left, he dropped his head down into his hands and let his shoulders slump, releasing a bone-deep sigh of weariness that caught at the end with pain.

For the first time in Harry's memory, Snape seemed human.

Perhaps, in the end, that made all the difference.

Realizing he still had the warm, dripping cloth in hand, the young Gryffindor shook himself and made his way quietly over to where the man sat. It was proof of how distracted he was that the Potions Professor did not seem to hear him.

Lightly biting his lip, he stopped at the man's side and slowly reached out for his teacher's hand. He bit down harder when his own brushed the back of it and came away sticky with blood.

But he'd succeeded in gaining the Potions Master's attention. The man looked up…and a rapid succession of emotions flitted across his face—anywhere from shock, to anger…to fear.

All Harry cared about was the freely bleeding cut on the Professor's temple.

Before the Head of Slytherin could open his mouth to make a snide remark, Harry gently pressed the damp cloth to the gash, eliciting a startled flinch from the man. "You can curse me all you want later, sir," he advised him evenly. "But right now, please shut up and let me help you."

Snape did, without so much as a glare.

Harry, a little more than stunned, wordlessly went about his work.

Neither heard Mrs. Weasley come in with the potions bottles, nor saw her abruptly halt behind them and watch their interaction with tears in her eyes. She left the two alone—first placing the potions on the table within Harry's reach—and joined her husband in the den with a smile on her face.

Harry cleaned up the cut as best he could, and would have pulled away to re-rinse the cloth at the sink had not Snape suddenly caught his wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip.

Slightly afraid of what he might find, Harry cautiously glanced up at the man.

The Potions Master's eyes glinted oddly, even though his face remained neutral. The question he posed to the Gryffindor was also neutral, "Why are you doing this?" and Harry could only imagine what it had cost him to ask that.

The sixteen-year-old averted his gaze, at last pulling away as his Professor released him—though not far. Slowly, taking his time, he carefully folded the cloth he'd been using. It took a full five minutes before he felt ready to answer: "Did you warn Sirius?"

Asked quietly and with no little pain. It also wasn't the response the Head of Slytherin wanted. Immediately, a violent sneer twisted the man's lips. "What has that mutt got to do with--"

"Please!" the boy's interruption was so unexpected, and so sudden, and so distraught that it instantly silenced the older man with him.

A few moments of tense, drawn out silence, and then the Potions Master relented through grit teeth, "Yes…Mr. Potter."

The teen gave a distracted nod, as if confirming something. "I had thought so," he admitted quietly, "but it was so much easier to believe you hadn't, and I didn't want to admit…" He trailed off, shaking his head and blinking back tears.

Snape watched him with an inscrutable expression, before finally, reluctantly, offering, "If you must place the blame somewhere, Potter, place it on Bellatrix Lestrange and the Dark Lord."

"I do, sir," Harry replied softly, "but I also believe Hermione's right and there is more than enough blame to go around. You warned Sirius…although, you most likely weren't too nice about it. And Sirius," his lips trembled, twisting into a bittersweet, rather grim, smile, "I can't imagine he took all that kindly to it. I think he would have just disagreed with you on principle. He let it go to his head, and already spurred on by worry for me and his own impulsive nature, he rushed off without thinking first. As for me," at this point the bittersweet smile turned simply bitter, "I should have stuffed it and learnt Occlumency properly from you. And of course," the smile dropped altogether and his face became progressively more bitter, "let's not forget the bloody Prophecy and how Dumbledore _forgot_," heavily laden with sarcasm, "to warn me about this stupid link and the fact that Voldemort could plant false visions."

Snape remained silent, uncertain what to do when face with this (by now) very, very bitter Harry Potter. He had no children of his own, and though he had a soft spot for his Slytherins, he was not equipped to deal with troubled teens (even though there were a few in his House), and certainly not one as troubled as Potter who, very clearly, was hurting.

"I'm sorry, sir," Potter's voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and re-directed his attention to the boy whose face was a stormy mix of pain, grief, and apology, "I did not mean to rant."

Uncomfortable, the Potions Master cleared his throat, "Well…quite, Mr. Potter." Shaking himself mentally, he pressed his lips firmly in a line. "Now, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to what exactly you believe yourself to be doing?"

"Doing, sir?" Harry answered, face clearing a bit in wry amusement as he was given something else to focus on other than the maelstrom tearing him apart from the outside in. "I believe it is called helping, Professor."

The man scowled, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not pour the rancor into it he wanted to. "I was aware of that, thank you, Potter."

"Hey, you asked," the blasted boy responded, a tiny smile appearing on his lips and holding his hands up.

Snape scowled even more when he realized their conversation was nearly civil. "_Why_?" the question was forceful, and came without preamble.

It wiped the smile right off the young Gryffindor's face and inwardly, the Potions Master winced and backed off.

"Potter, clearly you and I have never seen eye to eye," the Head of Slytherin pointed out softly, "so why help me? I was quite under the impression that you hated me."

Harry's answer stunned him. For the first time since this entire conversation had begun, the teenager looked straight at him. "Why would I hate you when I see you in me?" asked very quietly.

Snape shut his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of Albus Dumbledore entering the kitchen. The elderly wizard stopped the moment he saw the two of them at the kitchen table together, warily surveying teacher and student.

"The Headmaster is here, sir," the boy informed his Potions Professor quietly. He directed his attention to said Headmaster and addressed him as neutrally as possible, "Sir, Professor Snape will need all the potions on the table, and a few of his injuries need cleaning. He's in a lot of pain, sir. I wouldn't suggest asking him anything until they're attended to. After that, I think he has some important information for you once you finish. May I leave, Headmaster? I have schoolwork I should probably be doing." Not that he would be doing any such thing, he suddenly realized.

Not after this.

When the Headmaster wordlessly nodded, cautious, Harry turned away and began walking towards the door. He felt both the Headmaster's and Professor Snape's eyes on his back as he left.

Just as he was about to go out, he paused, his hand settling on the door handle. "And to answer your earlier question, Professor," he advised softly, turning back to lock gazes with Professor Snape, "my Godfather lost his life. I did not—and do not—want you to lose yours, too. It may be only one life, but to live that life is a precious thing."

Aside from being utterly gob smacked, Harry reflected, the Potions Master looked rather like he had taken a blow full to the stomach.

Feeling his cheeks heat, Harry quickly whipped around and would have shot through the door (which he had jerked open) in another moment had there not been the sudden clatter of a chair hitting the tiled floor of the kitchen, or a concerned cry from the Headmaster, "Severus!"

"Potter, wait!" came the near-frantic call.

Alarmed and quite startled, the teenager whirled once more to face the two older wizards. One of whom was trying to restrain the clearly unsteady other.

Snape shook off the Headmaster's worried hands. "Albus, let me be! Potter…!" And he staggered forward, never minding Dumbledore who tried once or twice to pull him back and sit him down before giving up with an exasperated huff and following him instead.

Free of the elderly wizard, the Potions Master continued on his single-minded, haphazard path. He was but two feet away from Harry when he stumbled and pitched head first towards the floor.

"Professor!"

"Severus!"

Came two identically concerned calls. Harry surged forward, grabbing the Head of Slytherin around his waist before the Headmaster could, and felt the man tightly grip his shoulders. "Potter, where did you hear that?" he hissed fiercely, although completely without any ire.

Utterly bemused (and a trifle _a_mused by the Potions Professor's dogged persistence), the sixteen-year-old replied quietly, "Nowhere really, sir…" /Except from a Sphinx who has offered me the chance to go back in time,/ he thought, but did not dare say. "Why?"

The Potions Master immediately stiffened. Knowing he had said something wrong, Harry tensed underneath his hands (which now gripped steel-tight to his shoulders) and tentatively ventured, "Sir? What is it? I didn't mean--"

Snape cut him off, voice terribly, terribly soft and apparently unaware that Harry had said anything other than that little impromptu speech five minutes ago, "Your mother told me the exact same thing one night during the first war when she was treating my injuries."

Shocked to the core, Harry snapped his head up to stare at the dark man above him. Snape…was very far away. He did not see Harry—or Dumbledore. The teenager was not even sure he saw Grimmauld Place.

His mother…

Harry swallowed hard, eyesight blurring. No one ever talked about his mother. And he would do almost anything hear more about her.

But Dumbledore spoke up at this time, breaking into their thoughts and the trance that had come over his teacher. "Are you _quite_ through?" he sounded mildly disgruntled.

Like lightning, the two separated—Snape to Dumbledore and Harry as far from the two of them as he could get. "I-I'll just be going now," the young wizard stammered.

He was only slightly appeased when he noticed Snape seemed almost as off-balance as he felt.

Dumbledore glanced at him. "That is fine, Harry," he replied as he looped one of the Potions Master's arms over his shoulder.

Snape merely nodded to him, unable to find his tongue to say so much as a "Good night."

Harry nodded in return, swiftly backing toward and out the door. A moment later, just as it fell shut in front of him, he heard the Headmaster remark to the other man, "Severus, you're something else…"

More was said, but Harry didn't stay to listen. Instead, he slowly made his way to the stairs, mind already on the dawn ahead of him.

He had made his choice.

_Tbc._


	3. The Value of a Life

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

_**Author's Note:**_ Hey, everyone! I just thought I'd mention that this is based rather firmly in the movieverse—although there _are _aspects of the bookverse in here, too. Anyway, please enjoy this story, and R&R!

_**Rating:**_ K /T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Three: The Value of a Life_

(Early the Next Morning)

Harry did not sleep that night. And an hour before dawn, dressed hurriedly, splashed his face, and tried to sneak out of Grimmauld Place to meet Nefertiti.

He had not counted on Hermione meeting him at the bottom of the stairs, already dressed for the day and fully prepared to do battle with him. When she demanded to know what was going on, he had brushed her off, coldly, with a simple, "This is something I _have_ to do, Hermione. Leave it at that."

Hermione, predictably, did not, and followed him outside into the gardens, along the twisting paths and between the overgrown hedges.

"But, Harry, _why_ do you have to do this?" came the girl's plaintive entreaty as she scrambled up the rocks behind him, for perhaps the third time since they had left the house.

It was nearly dawn now; a lighter gray could just be seen creeping up on the horizon.

Ron, Ginny, the twins, and the rest of the family, as well as Remus, were still asleep in Grimmauld Place behind them. Harry dared not wait too long, lest they, too, awoke. As it was, he could not be entirely certain the twins would not follow he and Hermione out here. He had not even intended the girl to come, but, like him, she could be notoriously stubborn when she thought something was either definitely right…or, as in this case, definitely wrong.

"Because I just do, Hermione," Harry retorted shortly. They were quiet a few moments as they climbed up the rock scramble at the far end of the gardens. Then the boy gave a sigh. His voice was relatively softer when he next spoke, "I'm sorry, 'Mione. I didn't mean to snap. But this…is just…_wrong_," clearly struggling with that last sentence.

"I don't understand," Hermione pleaded as they finally reached the top and she turned to face him.

The early light gently highlighted Harry's aged face, casting it into high relief and shadow. For aged it was, with burdens a young man newly turned sixteen should never have had to shoulder.

His eyes bespoke of painful lessons learned a little too late and sparked with a wild, tenacious hope that Hermione did not quite dare understand.

Those emerald orbs shone fiercely at her. "I've messed up something spectacular, 'Mione. Now I have a chance to fix it: Sirius, Cedric, the Tournament, _Voldemort_…I have a chance to _fix_ it, Herm." He grasped her shoulders and gave her a not entirely gentle shake. "Do you know how rare second chances _are_? She's given me something no one else _could_…!"

Hermione's eyes widened. "But…but, Harry, that's _insane_!" she sputtered. And Hermione Granger never sputtered. "Besides, how will you know what to fix when you don't even remember any of it?"

His own eyes glinted oddly, and for a brief moment, Hermione wondered if he really _was_ insane. That moment soon passed, however, as Harry replied, still holding her tightly by the shoulders, "That's just it, 'Mione, I _will_ remember it."

The teenaged girl looked suitably astonished at that statement. "What?" she breathed.

But Harry was not given an opportunity to reply. A ringing of bells, an ear-splitting crack of thunder, a blaze of pure white light, and then…"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "Tha-that's a _Sphinx_!" She stared at the mystical, literally magical, creature, and stared some more.

The Sphinx—for a Sphinx it was, with the body of a lioness and the head of a woman—tossed her sparkling mane of hair and regarded the flabbergasted girl in amusement, touched slightly with fond contempt. _'Honestly, sister-child, must you gape? It does not become you,'_ the being communicated.

Hermione yelped, clapping her hands quickly over her mouth as she realized that the words had been spoken in her head.

The Sphinx's glittering dark eyes regarded the young woman a moment before she languidly stretched out on the rock scramble, the dawn's rays catching her sleek, golden coat and casting a rosy glow over all her form, causing her near-white hair to sparkle even more.

Harry himself grinned softly as his female best friend stared, and gently releasing her, made his way over to Nefertiti. Crouching down beside the magnificent being, he lightly rested his hand on her great neck and tenderly began to stroke it. A deep, rumbling purr rose up from the Sphinx's throat as Harry continued his ministrations and then turned back to Hermione, "Not just any Sphinx, Herm. She's their queen, and she's the one I'm talking about." His grin widened slightly. "She is also the Sphinx that was in the Maze during the Tri-Wizards' Tournament."

When Hermione failed to answer, Nefertiti near-smirked, _'I do not believe that helped, light-child.'_ She turned serious the next moment, her ears twitching. _'I have told you I will help you and so I shall. But, light-child, as I told you there is a price to pay. There always is with magic—remember that.'_

Harry stood to his feet and gave a firm, somewhat nervous, nod. "What do I need to do?"

The Sphinx regarded him with deep, dark, solemn eyes. _'Neither I, nor your friend may do this for you. As for what you need to do: I must ask you to play god.'_

Harry stiffened. "How do you mean?" he asked carefully.

She did not explain, merely answered with a riddle: _'Who will live and who will die? Who makes this choice? Not I. Spinner cloaked in night, hides his heart of light; Prisoner birthed in darkness, renouncer of the night. One of these you must choose, else this chance you shall lose.'_

Harry gave her a wry look, trying desperately to conceal his rapidly growing unease. "Must you always speak in riddles?" he wanted to know.

The Sphinx's eyes gleamed with amusement once again, but soon enough, returned to their previous solemnity. _'You must choose, light one, or else I cannot help you.'_

Harry swallowed thickly. "Nothing like a little pressure," he murmured.

There was a tug on his sleeve. "H-Harry," Hermione's voice was small as he turned to her, and quavered slightly. "Sh-she's talking about Snape and Sirius."

Harry's face went pale. Sweet Merlin, he had to choose between _those_ two?

Nefertiti had told him yesterday that there was a price, and that she could only send him so far into the past. Two years had not seemed like a lot, but it had been enough. He would be able to retake his Fourth Year—and his Fifth—and had the advantage of memory. As such, he would have the chance to properly take Occlumency and therefore, recognize false visions. Which would lead (he hoped) to saving Sirius.

He had not, however, expected this to be that price.

'_It is not an easy choice, I know,' _the Sphinx communicated, _'take all the time you need, but try to do so quickly if you can.'_

Not easy? Try impossible. /I don't wantto _make_ that choice!/ he thought frantically/But if I don't make it…I'll never get the chance to set things right. If I could go back…Cedric could be saved. But so could Sirius if I choose Snape to…to…but he's a _spy_, for Merlin's sake. Then there's the not so small matter of my mother and that vision…/ His scalp prickled and he shivered uneasily/Why am I even _thinking_ this? What right do I have to play god? I don't _have _that right!/ Eventually, however, his thoughts calmed their chaotic mess/ I need to make a choice if I'm going to save anyone else,/ he finally admitted/I told Snape last night that to live the life you're given…that's a precious gift. Even more so when you're free to live it _your _way. And I believe that, with all of my heart. I want to save Sirius. I'd give up nearly everything to _have_ Sirius back…but I won't give up this chance. Or take away Snape's life. Sirius…/ his heart gave a painful twinge/it still hurts when I think about him. I miss him bitterly, and I always _will _miss him bitterly. But callous as it sounds, he's already…already…/ his breathing hitched. /Snape's not. For all I know, he could be on a mission for the Order right now. And if I…do make that choice, his information will never come through, more lives will be lost and…and…it might become like that dream, that horrid dream…/

"Harry?" slender fingers gently touched his cheek, startling him out of thoughts that were quickly spiraling back into panic. "You're crying…"

Caught off guard, Harry whipped around to face Hermione, eyes red. "H-Huh?" he stammered thickly. Quickly, he brushed his wrist across his eyes—it came away damp.

Hermione smiled sadly.

However, before she could speak again, Nefertiti did, _'Are you ready to choose light-child? The sun is nearly in the sky, and your other friends will be up soon.'_

Harry turned back to her, giving a second, rather more confident nod. He took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."

The Sphinx's eyes glittered at him. _'You may take someone with you if you wish,'_ she advised him, resting her chin on her great paws.

The sixteen-year-old stilled, looking thoughtful a moment. He turned to the girl at his side, "What about it, Herm? Will you come with me? I'll need your support more than ever now, especially with the way Ron's probably gonna act." /And with the choice I made,/ he thought, but did not say.

He noticed (and was grateful to notice) that she took her time to consider his request. It was a lot to ask of her, he knew, and he wanted to be absolutely sure she would not regret her decision.

Finally, a warm smile stole across her face. "Oh, all right…but only if you promise we'll keep up with our proper year studies!"

The other Gryffindor beamed at her. "Thank you, Hermione!" he cried, catching her up and twirling her around. "And yes, yes, I promise we will!"

Surprised, but pleased, and with a faint blush decorating her cheeks, Hermione gave a soft laugh.

When Harry finally set her down, they grinned at each other before turning to the Sphinx.

She rose to her full height now, standing majestic and tall in the rays of the early morning sunlight. _'Children, realize that there are some things which cannot be reversed. There will always be the chance that anything as you remember it will occur just as it was. I do not know which events will still take place, nor will I pretend to, so you must constantly be on guard. Although some things may occur again, you will have the chance to fix whatever takes place __**within**__ them. And remember, even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course.'_

Hermione lifted her chin. Harry straightened his shoulders. They both gave firm nods.

'_Light-child, you must choose,'_ Nefertiti informed him quietly.

As his insides twisted uncomfortably, Harry felt Hermione take his hand. Taking in another steadying breath, he spoke up a trifle shakily, "Th-the renouncer of the night."

The Sphinx shook out her wings which had thus far remained hidden, _'Is that your final choice, light-child?'_

Harry swallowed thickly…and nodded, as Hermione tenderly squeezed his hand. He cleared his throat. "Yes…yes it is," he whispered.

The Sphinx's lips curved up in a gentle smile. _'Very well, then. Children, make sure you hold onto each other. Do not let go until I tell you to.'_

The children nodded again, tightening their grips on each other's hands.

Then, with a mighty braying, she reared back on her heels and flapped her powerful wings. Words in a foreign tongue projected themselves in the two teenagers' minds, and sounded remarkably like a very long and complicated spell.

Finally, as their cadence wound down, the Sphinx gave a last gust of her wings—which caught the children up in its midst—and sent them flying backwards. A single word—actually shouted—and an alarmed cry from Hermione, then all went blindingly white.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

(Two Years in the Past)

'_Children, let go!'_ came the cry. Even fainter was, _'I __**will**__ see you again!'_

And then Harry found himself slamming down into something soft.

"Harry!" someone hissed. "HARRY!"

With a gasp the teenager's emerald eyes flew open and he shot up straight in bed, narrowly avoiding knocking foreheads with a certain bushy, brown-haired friend of his. Almost immediately thereafter, he groaned and grabbed his head, leaning forward.

A potions' vial was thrust under his nose. "Here," the witch said promptly. "Headache potion. Mrs. Weasley was already up making breakfast when I came down with the mother of all headaches. She gave me one of these from her medicines cabinet. You should _see_ how many of these things she has—bruise salve, fever-reducing, blood-replenishing…"

Harry took the vial and quickly downed it, grimacing slightly at the taste.

As soon as the headache receded, he snapped his head up to look at her—really _look_ at her. The first words to tumble out of his mouth were, "Hermione, did it work?"

The girl settled herself on his bed, cross-legged and accepted the empty vial back from him. "Why don't we find out?" she suggested.

Harry was agreeable to that. Sitting up more comfortably he began, "All right. Do you remember the Sphinx?"

Hermione grinned. "I'd really have to be oblivious not to. She was gorgeous! What's her name, by the way?"

Harry smiled, relaxing a little. "Nefertiti."

The girl nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Sphinxes usually live in Egypt, right?"

"Yeah," the other Gryffindor affirmed. "Many people believe that Sphinxes are reincarnated pharaohs, but they've never been able to prove it. Nefertiti says it's true and she probably knows best."

"Do you remember who you chose, Harry?" Hermione asked carefully, voice soft.

Harry's smile saddened. "Yeah," he whispered. "Sirius."

The now-fourteen-year-old returned it. "I didn't want to say anything before, and Nefertiti said I shouldn't, but I think you made the right choice."

Her friend looked at her wistfully. "You think so?" he murmured.

She nodded, still smiling sadly, and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze.

Harry gave a heavy sigh. "I think I'll probably feel guilty for the rest of my life, Herm. This time I really _did_ kill him."

"_Don't you dare say that!_" the girl ordered sharply. "Nefertiti said you had to make a choice, and you did. I know it sounds callous, but you can't kill someone who is already dead. In some ways it was a mercy, Harry. You know how much he hated that place, and Dumbledore kept him confined to it. That probably did not help the ghosts he still had from Azkaban any."

"That place" was naturally Grimmauld Place, Sirius's family home, and Hermione, of course, was probably right. "How is it you can always grind the guilt into pieces small enough to live with?" he asked quietly, smile brightening.

Hermione giggled a bit. "It's just me, I guess."

Harry laughed slightly. "I guess so."

His female best friend released his hand and jumped off the bed, as the now-fourteen-year-old-boy pushed back his covers and climbed to his own feet. Curiously, he glanced around…and grinned when he found it was indeed the Burrow they were in, and Ron was indeed there, too, sleeping away. Stretching out the kinks in his back (Merlin, it even _felt_ like he had really been sleeping just a moment ago!), he turned to Hermione, and still grinning, remarked, "Better start getting Ron up. If I remember correctly, it's gonna take a while for him to fully wake up."

Hermione laughed and playfully swatted at his shoulder. "Fine! But this time, I think you should charm a bucket of cold water to fall on him if he's not up in another fifteen minutes." She shot him a mischievous smirk, "I'm assuming you remember how?"

Harry laughed, starting to pull on his shirt. "Yeah, yeah."

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

(Twenty Minutes Later, the Burrow's Kitchen)

Harry chuckled to himself as a now very much awake Ron swept by him, the other fourteen-year-old none too lightly smacking him upside the head as he passed behind his chair at the Burrow's kitchen table. "Thanks a lot, mate."

The other Fourth Year Gryffindor grinned. "Well, I'm sorry, but I was hungry."

Dropping into a chair on the other side of Harry, Ron grinned back at him before helping himself to some food. "You're always hungry."

Harry raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "I thought that was you."

The red-head rolled his eyes good naturedly. "Hey, you're not much better."

"What can I say?" the other boy responded lightly. "I'm a growing teenager."

And that wasn't the only reason, although really, only Ron, Hermione, and the twins had any idea why. They had busted him out of the Dursleys Second Year, after all, and Hermione was entirely too observant not to notice it.

Indeed, she had already scooped some more hash browns onto his plate.

"Good," the girl remarked warmly, "then you'll eat this." She grinned at him.

This time, Harry rolled his eyes fondly. "Yes, 'Mione," he replied sweetly.

The girl laughed and gave his shoulder a small whack where she sat on his other side, before continuing to eat herself.

"You know, mate," Ron spoke up a couple minutes later, "you seem a lot happier. I mean, with Sirius…and all." His remark was cautious.

Harry cast a lightning quick glance at Hermione, who returned it with a slight shake of her head. In the end, he decided to go with the truth—sort of. "Yeah, it helps having you and Herm here," he answered, turning back to Ron.

Which was true—just not for entirely the same reason.

Ron blushed slightly, waving his hand. "Ah, that's all right. 'Mione was the one who really talked to you."

Again, that lightning quick exchange of glances, although this time, Harry smiled at the girl. He nodded his head, still a trifle sad. "Yeah, but knowing _you're_ here helps, too."

His best friend blushed a little more and went back to eating.

Soon, one of the twins spoke up—Fred, he thought—leaning across the table with a dangerous smirk, "Oy, Harry, you gonna teach us…"

"…that pretty little charm of yours?" George finished, his smirk an exact replica of his twin's.

Harry laughed outright. "And have you try it on me? Gred, I would hope you had a little more faith in me. I _am_ the son of a Marauder, after all."

Then smirked, as the twins went into near-raptures.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

(Several Hours Later)

"All right, step lively now, step lively," Mr. Weasley spoke up cheerfully. "We're already late as it is."

The seven of them—Harry, Hermione, Ron, the Twins, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley—quickly trekked their way across the countryside and over the hill that was nearly an exact replica of the one Harry and Hermione had left behind at Grimmauld Place. No Sphinx greeted them this time, and when they crested the hill, their small group entered a forest.

"Oy, Dad, where are we going?" Fred called up to him—and it still amazed Harry that he was able to tell the difference between the two twins.

/Of course,/ he thought, quickly fighting down a shudder/there's a reason why./

"You'll see, you'll see!" Mr. Weasley called back brightly, smiling and throwing Harry out of his reverie.

The boy and his female best friend exchanged slightly apprehensive grins.

They knew, of course (although they could not tell the others this), exactly where they were headed—but they also knew it was entirely possible that what happened there last time, would happen again. Nefertiti's admonishment was still fresh in their minds, a faint, receding (but never disappearing) echo: _'Be wary, children, be wary!'_

Neither heard Mr. Weasley's response to Fred, for they suddenly came across…

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley hailed in greeting, as their group neared a tall tree.

"A bit late, aren't you, old chap?" the other man responded cheerfully.

"Sorry, but some of us had a bit long of a lie in," Mr. Weasley replied, shooting a glance at Ron…who promptly yawned.

The older men reached each other first, where both proceeded to warmly pound each other's backs.

"How are things at the Ministry?" Amos asked, a slightly mirthful glint to his eyes.

"Just as crazy as the last time you--" Mr. Weasley began.

But was interrupted by a _shsh-ing_ of leaves and a faint thud as a tall, lanky form with well-built shoulders and dark hair straightened from the half-crouch he had landed in.

Harry stopped dead, breathing unevenly and staring at him through tear-clouded eyes. "Oh, God…" he choked. "Hermione…"

It was Cedric.

_Tbc._


	4. The First Step

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

_**Reviewers:**_ All of you who have reviewed, thank you! Please spread the word.

_**Note:**_ Hey, all. This chapter's a short one, but I felt that I had to break it off where I did—it would seem too much, otherwise, I think. But if I'm lucky and my muse (and time advantage) stays with me, I might be able to get another chapter up this weekend (don't quote me on that).

Please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ K /T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter 4: The First Step_

A very much alive and real Cedric Diggory, who presently wore that jaunty little grin of his that Harry had never quite been able to forget.

He clutched at Hermione who had quickly circumvented her way back to him at his strangled call. Concern highlighted her features as she slipped an arm around his shoulders, "Harry?" her own breathing hitched, "Harry, take a few deep breaths, come on." Tears trickled down her cheeks as she gently rubbed his back.

She supposed she really should have expected this. It was not everyday that a person received a second chance at life. Even if they were unaware of it.

They were receiving a few curious looks by this point, not the least of which came from the object of this turmoil himself.

The twins, with Ron on their heels, had joined them the moment Harry's distress had made itself known. And Hermione made a mental note to speak with Harry about his acting skills (or lack thereof) as soon as they were alone.

They had not been prepared for Cedric's reappearance, and the girl knew that if they wanted to pull this off, they would need to perfect their acting skills to a point where they could easily pass for Slytherins, regardless of the fact that they were actually Gryffindors.

Hermione was nothing if not logical, and right now, her logic was telling her that their cover would be blown the moment someone even half-suspected something was amiss.

Ron spoke then, startling both Harry and Hermione, but directing his question at the other fourteen-year-old boy, "Mate, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He, of course, could not know how close to the truth that was.

Harry, abruptly aware of the scene he must be making, tore his gaze with great difficulty away from the apparition of his all-too-recent past. Scolding himself inwardly as he came to much the same conclusion Hermione had moments before, he wiped hurriedly at his watering eyes, "Yeah. I'm fine, Ron. _Really_," this last part added to placate the twins as George took the opportunity to steal him from Hermione's grasp, turning him around to critically examine his face.

Fred, leaning over his twin's shoulders, frowned at him, "I think we'll be the judge of that, Harrykins."

Blush flashed across his cheeks at the nickname as he became cognizant—finally—of the company that they were with. "_Fred_," he groaned out, highly embarrassed as he thought of the Diggorys.

He took advantage of the twins' shock to slip out of George's grasp and regain Hermione's side. /Oops. Forgot that these twins aren't aware I can tell them apart,/ he thought, swiping impatiently at several more tears that fell in spite of his efforts to control them.

"Hallo, are you all right?"

Harry jumped at the voice, having forgotten momentarily that Cedric would be watching all of this.

He quickly glanced up to find the Hufflepuff standing in front of he and Hermione, gray eyes gazing at him in polite confusion and slight concern.

"Yeah," he croaked, rubbing at still more tears, "yeah. Sorry. It's just…just…" He groaned again in frustration, and scrubbed furiously his eyes as his tears persisted to fall. "Sorry," apologizing once more.

When Cedric started looking even more concerned, Hermione took things into her own hands. "Don't worry too much about it," put in swiftly, "it's just he's…it's been a rough year and…and Harry's had it much worse than…He…his godfather…" she wiped at her own tears, wondering vaguely why she _also_ was crying, "Sorry, it was…he…it was recent."

Harry shot her a grateful look, knowing it was true and relieved Hermione had thought to go with as much of the truth as possible.

Understanding touched the older boy's face and sympathy lit his eyes, "Ah, sorry about that."

"Not your fault," Harry assured him, more or less managing to calm down. /_Really_ not your fault./

At least semi-in control of his emotions, he stepped forward and offered his hand to the soon-to-be-Seventh Year, unknowingly beginning to alter things from what they had been, "Cedric Diggory, right? You're a brilliant Seeker."

Cedric grinned, cheeks flushing slightly, and shook the younger boy's hand. "Not nearly as brilliant as you," he chuckled. "But thanks, anyway."

The Gryffindor's smile came a bit easier this time as they completed the hand clasp.

There was an almost palpable hesitation then, as Harry hedged, wanting to say something more and yet not quite sure what (or how). Their eyes remained level, and Cedric, too, appeared to want to say something else, but did not. Or could not. Harry wasn't sure which.

Luckily, before things could become too awkward, they were joined by Mr. Weasley and Amos Diggory. "You all right there, Harry?" the red-headed man asked softly, as they were surrounded by the other children.

Harry turned to him and managed a small smile. "Yes, sir." Turning a bit and smiling slightly when Hermione tenderly took his arm.

He nodded to her and she relaxed. Shaking his head fondly, he rolled his eyes warmly at Ron, who snickered quietly, before turning back towards Cedric.

At that point, Amos Diggory got a good look at his face. His eyes widened and a smile of pure delight swept over his face, "Merlin's Beard, well, if it isn't!" Coming forward, he promptly seized a startled Harry's hand and very heartily shook it. "Harry Potter! Ced's talked about you, of course. Told us all about playing against you two years--"

Harry, who had heard this all before and even now sensed the twins—who had come to stand at his back—begin to tense and start to scowl, was quite startled a moment later when Cedric hastily interrupted his father, "Dad, I told you…Harry fell off his broom. That doesn't count! It was storming, there were about thirty Dementors, and he was a _second_ year, for Merlin's sake! Not to mention he very nearly _did_ beat me! He would have gotten the Snitch if the Dementors hadn't shown up."

That mollified the twins, at least. But Harry wasn't paying attention to them, or to the way Cedric was trying patiently to ward off his father's warm "Yes, but _you_ didn't fall off, did you?" comment much earlier than he had previously. The startled squeak from Hermione alerted him to the fact that she had noticed it, too.

Cedric had said Second Year. Not Third, as it had been in their time.

Exchanging a significant glance with Hermione, he nodded slightly at Ron. The girl, understanding, nodded back to him.

If any one could find out—discreetly—whether his choice of just hours ago had already significantly altered the timeline, it was Hermione.

At that moment, Mr. Weasley spoke up. "Must be nearly time, don't you think, Amos? Are there any more of us out here?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there a week already," the older man informed him, and Harry and Hermione perked up at this familiar name. "The Fawcetts couldn't get tickets…"

Ginny's shout interrupted them. "Dad, it's up here!"

Startled, Mr. Weasley (along with everyone else) whipped around.

Ginny had been exploring the area around them as the others conversed, and now she stood at the crest of Stoatshead Hill near…

A manky old boot. The Portkey.

Hermione shot a grin at Harry, hurrying to join the only other girl in their party.

Shaking his head in quiet amusement, Harry followed her (as well as the two adult wizards) up the hill at a rather more sedate pace, trying hard to ignore the knots beginning to form in his stomach.

George and Fred, however (as well as, surprisingly, Cedric), chose that moment to come up on either side of him and sling their arms over his shoulders (the twins, at least).

"So, Prongslet…" Fred began…but immediately had to stop as the younger boy's face tightened in badly concealed agony.

George must have noticed it, too, because promptly thereafter he released Harry to soundly slap his twin over the head, "Idiot! That's what Sirius called him, remember?"

While Fred ruefully rubbed his abused head and sent an apologetic look in Harry's direction, George's arm once more settled protectively around the fourteen-year-old's shoulders. At that point, Cedric suddenly spoke up, "Sirius? Sirius Black?"

He immediately flushed as three gazes settled solidly on his face. "Sorry," muttered.

Harry gave him a faint smile. "S'alright. Yes, Sirius Black. As in the escaped convict. He…was the godfather 'Mione was talking about. And before you ask," the younger boy flashed him another small (rather sad) smile, "he i—was innocent of all charges."

"I know," Cedric agreed kindly, "I read the _Daily Prophet_ article way back in the beginning of last year. Peter Pettigrew was actually your parents' Secret Keeper, right?"

Harry's mouth dropped as he stared at the Hufflepuff. Before he could stammer out anything even vaguely coherent, Amos Diggory suddenly exclaimed, "Ced, grab on!" at the same time Hermione and Mr. Weasley cried, "Harry!"

Startled, the two Seekers exchanged swift glances before both grabbed the boot at the same time, vaguely noting the twins had already done the same.

Then came the dreaded hook behind Harry's navel, the nauseating, spinning sensation, and, inevitably, the memories:

"_Kill the spare!"_

"_**Avada Kedavra**__!"_

_A flash of insidious green light, and then, hitting the ground, eyes wide open and lifeless, Cedric's body…_

Harry slammed out of the memory and onto the dew-covered ground of the Quidditch World Cup on his hands and knees, and began violently retching.

Hermione was at his side in an instant, followed almost at the same moment by Ron, the twins, and Ginny.

On her knees beside him, Hermione blinked back tears and soothingly rubbed Harry's shaking back as he emptied the contents of his stomach. "'Mi…one," he moaned so lowly that she was the only one to hear.

Her breath caught, and she continued rubbing his back. "I know, Harry," she choked, so only he could hear, too. "I know."

_Tbc._


	5. What You Make It Part 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

_**Note:**_ Another shorter chapter. Don't worry, I plan on following up this one with a longer one as soon as I can. For those of you who asked—yep, Harry's choice definitely changed the timeline. I'll get more into that later. Sirius is not alive in this fic, but he will be "popping up" again later on, just not…in the most conventional sense. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter and R&R when you get the chance.

_**Reviewers:**_ A huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Five: What You Make It (Part 1)_

"Whoa, mate," Fred's worried voice remarked somewhere over his head as the younger twin's hand joined Hermione's on his back, "that's some reaction there. You've never taken a Portkey before?"

Harry just groaned, unable to explain that the last time he had taken one it was both unwillingly and had deposited him in a Little Hangleton graveyard at the feet of the psychotic bastard also known as Lord Voldemort.

"Harry?" George's voice was tight and Harry, ashen-faced, glanced up as the older twin's knees came into view.

George's own face was quite pale as he held out a potions vial which Harry assumed came from Mr. Weasley's rucksack. The man in question stood behind his son, watching the younger boy with no little guilt. "I am sorry, Harry. I had forgotten you would be unfamiliar with Portkeying."

"D-Don't worry about," the fourteen-year-old barely managed.

Shakily, he struggled to his knees. Seeing this attempt to move, Hermione and Ron (who must have been on his other side) immediately grabbed either arm and hefted them over their shoulders. Between the two, they eased Harry into a sitting position.

Ginny, Cedric, and Fred had all gathered around George by this point and the older twin uncapped the vial, handing it to Harry.

"What is it?" he whispered, throat sore and therefore making his voice hoarse.

"A potion to settle your stomach," the answer came, surprisingly, from Cedric. Who looked almost as pale as George.

Wondering at that, Harry downed the potion, grimacing at the slightly bitter tang. It worked wonders, though. Within moments, the boy was able to straighten and color returned to his cheeks.

A collective breath seemed to be released then, to the young Gryffindor's bemusement.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry grinned warmly at her. "I'm fine now, Herms."

"Can you stand, mate?" that was Ron, who stood to his own feet and held a hand down to the other Fourth Year boy.

"Yeah. Think so," he replied, accepting the offered hand and allowing the red head to help him up. Hermione kept her arm around his waist, tightening it when he wavered momentarily on his feet.

Smiling reassuringly at his female best friend, Harry turned to Mr. Weasley and held the now empty vial out to the older man. "Thank you, sir. That really helped."

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "That's not mine, Harry."

The teenager blinked at that statement. "It's not?"

A tap on his shoulder, and Harry whirled around, momentarily forgetting that he was not completely stable on his feet, yet. He only had time to catch a quick glimpse of a now-smiling Cedric's face before he stumbled, staggered, and abruptly lost his balance. Hermione, unfortunately, had chosen that moment to release him, so he ended up careening right into the Hufflepuff's shoulder.

Strong arms grabbed him around his own shoulders, bringing him up against the taller boy's side just as a flurry of exclamations came from behind him.

Cedric chuckled.

Mortified, Harry stiffened up. "Sorry!" he blurted, hastily beginning to backpedal. Luckily, the older boy thought to stop him before he ended up sprawled back on the ground in a rather ungraceful heap.

Of course, the seventeen-year-old was still chuckling.

Harry felt color gradually creeping up from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears as the others calmed down, and joined the Seventh Year in his laughter.

"Potter…Potter!" Cedric chuckled, steadying him. "It's okay. Believe me."

Sighing, Harry finally glanced up at Cedric, fully aware that he was probably as red as Ron's hair by this point. Watching the older teenager laugh, his gray eyes dancing merrily, Harry felt a rueful grin beginning to appear on his lips.

It was nice being able to see that mirth in a living face.

Finally, with the atmosphere considerably less tense than it had been just two minutes ago, the children settled down and Cedric, smiling, raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling, "I'll take that vial back now, Potter. I'm not much better with Portkeys, I'm afraid."

Harry grinned sheepishly, and handed it back to him.

"Ced!" the call came from the left, quite nearby, causing Cedric's (and Harry's) attention to swerve in that direction.

Amos Diggory stood beside a bored-looking, graying elderly man—clearly a Muggle—waving to his son.

Cedric waved back, before turning to Harry with a grin and holding his hand out. "I'll see you at school, Potter. Maybe we can have a rematch this year, eh? Now that there's no more Petrifications."

The Fourth Year's grin widened as he firmly shook the older boy's hand. "You're on." Never mind the fact that he was fairly certain the only Quidditch games this year would be pick up ones.

Still, that actually…was an appealing idea.

When Cedric released his hand and went to join his father, Harry, in a flash of inspiration, started after him, "Cedric, wait!"

Surprised, but unfailingly good-humored, Cedric paused, and glancing back over his shoulder, quirked a slightly bemused eyebrow at the younger wizard. "Potter?" he queried.

Harry flushed lightly. "If you'd like, we can get together after the Cup and talk Quidditch. I hear Krum's a fantastic Seeker."

The older boy smiled. "Sounds good, Potter. See you at ten, your tent? My father will probably end up coming, too."

Harry grinned. "Great! See you then!"

Cedric tossed one last smile over his shoulder and joined his father.

"See you later, Arthur!" Mr. Diggory shouted.

Harry missed Mr. Weasley's call in response as he was accosted by the twins and Ron.

"Mate," Fred began, followed by George,

"What's this…"

"…about the Cup?"

Harry rolled his eyes fondly, pointing off in the distance to the tents at the bottom of the hill where they had landed. "That."

The twins and Ron, who had previously been too preoccupied by their concern for Harry to register their surroundings, glanced in the direction he was pointing…and gaped.

Mr. Weasley, who had come over with the girls to join them, smiled at his sons' expressions. "Welcome," he told them, "to the Quidditch World Cup."

"Bloody hell," Ron uttered appreciatively.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

The walk to their tent was farther than Harry remembered, but then, he had not been paying so much attention to the details the first time around. As they walked, Harry amused himself by locating the events he remembered from his and Hermione's first visit and then predicted what would happen (as it _had_ happened already).

Over there, two Hogwarts students that Harry vaguely recognized were _Accio_-ing a Quaffle back and forth, and as they passed, the first would drop it…which he did. To their right, an older girl was having a tickle war with her little sister. She had the advantage now, but…

"Here comes her boyfriend," Hermione murmured from beside him, causing Harry to startle slightly.

Sure enough, striding with great enthusiasm towards her turned back, was a somewhat stocky, blue-eyed, blond-haired youth, who immediately seized his advantage by gently grabbing her from behind and tickling her much as she had been tickling her younger sister.

The girlfriend's shrieks of laughter echoed back towards them, and Hermione and Harry exchanged grins.

For a while as they walked, both time travelers quietly conversed as they pointed out the various memorable antics they had seen previously. During one of the lulls, Hermione softly asked, making sure none of the others could overhear, "Harry, why change how things were with Cedric? Why not let things happen as they did before? Of course, they could not be _exactly_ the same as before, not with the reaction you had to that Portkey."

Harry sighed, rubbing his neck as he recalled their first "official" meeting with the past. "I think I already started changing it by the way I reacted to Cedric when we saw him in the woods. Even though I should have, I was not expecting that," he admitted. Then reddened. "He saw my entire reaction, Hermione. And that, more than anything, switched things up." He shrugged uncomfortably, "I know we have to be careful. Things have already changed more than I expected them to. But I hope by getting closer to Cedric, I can change his death, too."

Hermione fell silent, as she had no response to that.

Not that she would have been able to respond. At that moment, their small party drew to a halt in front of a very familiar tent. "Ah, here we are," Arthur Weasley sighed happily, smiling. "Home, sweet home. In we go."

Harry eyed the tent with a smile, raising an eyebrow in Hermione's direction. She giggled, then caught up Ginny's hand and dragged the younger girl in after her, on the heels of Mr.Weasley who had ducked in ahead of them.

"Come on, mate," George warmly slapped him on the shoulder as he swiftly ducked passed him.

Fred's slap followed, as he grinned at the younger boy, then followed his twin, repeating his father's words, "_In_ we go," and added to it a purely Weasley twin twist by literally charging in, imaginary rapier held high.

Harry gave a bark of laughter and followed him, rucksack slung over his shoulder. His emerald eyes danced as he watched the twins shoot off sparks at each other from their wands in a sort of mock duel. "Those two will never change," he muttered fondly.

"'Course not," Ron came in behind him, slapping his back in much the same way as the twins had and grinned, "they're Fred and George."

Harry laughed again, eyes traveling around the spacious interior of the tent. /Merlin, I love magic,/ he thought happily.

"Oy, Ron," he nudged the youngest Weasley male in the side with his elbow, then nodded towards the pillows on the bunks before raising his eyebrows pointedly in the direction of the two older Gryffindors.

The delighted smirk on his male best friend's lips as he caught on would have made their twin victims proud as the two fourteen-year-olds promptly snagged a pillow each and attacked.

The shouts of laughter that followed were compliment enough.

IOIOIOI

Hermione, where she was stowing away her own bag near the bunks on the other side of the tent with Ginny, quickly glanced up as she heard Harry's laughter ringing out over the three brothers'. As she watched him try unsuccessfully to ward off an attack by Ron, a huge smile spread across her lips.

They needed to talk, yes, and the sooner the better. But for the moment, she was content to watch him act his actual age, and not the old man she often felt lurked behind the boyish exterior.

_Tbc._


	6. What You Make It Part 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

_**Note:**_ Hey, all. Originally, this chapter was supposed to be a great deal longer. But that simply did not work out. So the "What You Make It" chapters will continue until at least the next post. I think you'll see why I decided to cut it off where I did—but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. As for the questions posed in reviews, a few of them will be clarified in this chapter, and others farther along down the line. Please R&R!

_**Reviewers:**_ Many thanks—_adge9631, ACforever, jkh1, Olaf74, Bookworm.Annie, Dementedjen, Alorkin, fraewyn, Nymoue, Draven Skullwise, excessivelyperky, rekahneko, geka0taitsume0taikaiyou, TEC, leggylover03, _and _acacia59601_.

_**Rating:**_ K+/T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Six: What You Make It (Part 2)_

A light nudge in her side startled Hermione's attention away from the four boys' antics. Swinging around, startled, she found a widely grinning Ginny watching her with unconcealed amusement. "Crushing on our beloved Boy-Who-Lived, 'Mione?" she asked far too sweetly.

Hermione colored to the roots of her hair. "N-No!" she stammered.

The younger girl laughed brightly. "Come _on_, 'Mione!" she teased warmly. "You think I haven't noticed? Hell, even _Ron_ thinks something's up with the two of you."

"It's not like that," Hermione insisted, cheeks still quite red.

The youngest Weasley merely raised an eyebrow, brown eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh, really? Then why have you barely left his side the entire time you two have been at the Burrow?"

There were all sorts of reasons, of course. But none of which she could tell Ginny.

When she had no answer, the Third Year looked smug.

Thankfully, Mr. Weasley chose that moment to interrupt, smiling widely, as he intervened in the impromptu pillow fight. "All right, now, all right. That's enough. The last thing we need is you hooligans bringing down the entire tent."

Harry laughed as he was relieved of his pillow. "Sorry, Mr. Weasley." Clearly, however, he had had too much fun to be really sorry.

The man seemed to understand that. Patting Harry on the shoulder, still smiling, he answered, "That's fine, Harry," before going on to deftly remove certain pillows from certain sons' grasps.

"Aw, Dad, do we have to?" came Ron's predictable answer.

Mr. Weasley laughed, before quickly covering it up with a cough and an emphatic, "_Yes_. Come on now," he cajoled. "You want to have time to look around, don't you?"

At that, Ron's face lit and he and the twins willingly handed over the pillows. "Maybe we can find some omnioculars, mate," Ron advised Harry excitedly as the two girls slowly joined them.

"Omnioculars?" Harry asked curiously, for the sake of keeping up appearances.

"Oh, they're wicked, mate," Ron continued happily, "_especially_ for Quidditch. I think Hagrid had a pair First Year…They can freeze movement, and give you play by play records of a game. Wonder how much they cost?" This last part added somewhat glumly.

"I can always get you a pair for an early Christmas present," Harry offered quietly, praying his male best friend would not take offense.

Ron looked to be torn between accepting the offer, and outright scowling at him. Finally, with a slight, sheepish nod, his face relaxed. "Thanks, mate," murmured.

Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Harry gently patted him on the shoulder.

"Well, then," Mr. Weasley's cheerful voice interrupted, as he left the bunks where he had replaced the pillows, "you'll need this." He held out a medium sized money pouch, and tipping its contents into his other hand, beckoned his children closer with a smile. "There now," and he hand each of his four children twenty Galleons each, as well as any number of Sickles and Knuts. He grinned at their delighted expressions and winked, "I was given a small raise for 'notable services to the Wizarding World.'"

"In other words," George put in dryly, but warmly, accepting his share along with his twin, "for helping catch Pettigrew last January."

Harry and Hermione froze. No one seemed to notice.

"Pity the rat got away, though," Ginny replied.

"_Ginny_!" Ron hissed, glancing significantly at Harry.

The other Fourth Year boy winced, even that short exchange providing a hint of what, exactly, had happened to his godfather. His face tight, the messy-haired fourteen-year-old glanced at Mr. Weasley. "Is that true?" he asked, voice hushed.

"That Pettigrew got away, or that I helped catch him?" the man asked softly, tying the money bag with the remaining Galleons to his waist.

Harry swallowed. "Both, sir."

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Yes. Both are true. As for Pettigrew--"

But he could not say anything more, as Harry abruptly cut him off with a fierce hug, totally taking the head of the Weasley clan by surprise. "Thank you," the boy's voice trembled. "Thank you so much."

His throat tightening, Mr. Weasley lightly patted the boy on the shoulders. "You're welcome," he cleared his throat. "You've already thanked me before, you know. Not quite like this, granted, as you were rather out of it from the Dementors, but still…"

Harry smiled, a few tears trickling down his cheeks, before stepping away. Swiping at them, he glanced up at the older wizard as Mr.Weasley's hands settled on his shoulders and he leaned down to Harry's level. His blue eyes were firm and resolute as he earnestly regarded the boy, "I promise you, Harry, we're doing everything we can to locate him. The moment Pettigrew's captured, you'll know, and he'll receive the Dementor's Kiss."

Harry swallowed again and nodded, offering a shaky smile. Mr. Weasley returned the smile—sadly—and gently released the teenager. When Harry caught the twins watching him worriedly, he shot a small grin in their direction, nodding his head to indicate that he was relatively all right.

Hermione cleared her throat, and addressed the older wizard. "Mr. Weasley, would it be all right if I stayed here with Harry for a bit? We'll catch up with you in about an hour or so."

Harry, still slightly unsteady, gratefully sat down on one of the bottom bunks when Mr. Weasley glanced in his direction and then smiled warmly at the Fourth Year girl, replying, "Of course, Hermione. Use the 'Point Me' spell when you want to find us—no one will mind. There is so much magic around here that I doubt anyone will notice. Just, erm, don't tell Molly."

Hermione laughed quietly. "I won't, Mr. Weasley."

Meanwhile, Fred and George had come up to Harry, and crouched in front of him with Ron and Ginny behind them. "Mate, you going to be all right?" the other Fourth Year boy asked softly, watching his face in concern.

Harry chuckled weakly. "I'll be fine in a bit. It's still a little too fresh, is all."

Ginny bit her bottom lip, laying her hand gently on his right shoulder. "I'm sorry, Harry," she advised him quietly, contrite.

The older boy shook his head, smiling warmly. "Don't worry about it, Gin." As Hermione and Mr. Weasley joined them, Harry insisted, "I'm really all right, you lot. Hermione will be here with me. Go on, we'll catch up with you later."

"If you're sure, mate…" George trailed off, clearly reluctant to leave.

"_Go_," Harry insisted softly, smiling.

With a sigh, the older twin nodded and, quickly bending down, gave Harry a brief but fierce hug, followed in quick succession by Fred, Ron, and Ginny. Then the four Weasley children exited the tent with their father, a little more subdued than they had been earlier.

Harry smiled wistfully after them. Hermione, noticing this, sat beside him on the bed. "They'll cheer up, Harry," she told him softly.

The raven-haired boy blew out a breath. "I know, Hermione. I just wish they weren't unhappy because _I'm_ unhappy. They're hardly responsible for what happened and how I'm feeling."

"They're upset because they care about you, Harry," the Gryffindor girl pointed out quietly. "You shook up Fred and George quite a bit yesterday morning. They were telling Ron, Ginny, and I all about it last evening. Ron and Ginny weren't too happy when they found out, either. And these twins, and this Ron and Ginny, although that hasn't happened, feel the exact same way."

Harry's face took on a peculiar look as warmth swept through him at her words. He knew they cared about him—hell, the last time he had been in the Tri-Wizard Tournament Mrs. Weasley and Bill, Bill who hadn't even really met him, attended as family guests. _Family_. They considered him family.

And now, more than ever, he understood that. What had George called him yesterday? 'Little bro?'

/Well,/ he decided, squaring his shoulders/if they're family, then I'm not going to let what happened to Sirius happen to them, and I won't let that dream happen. Somehow, I'll stop it—by Merlin I will! That means we're going to have to do some serious planning, but I refuse to do anything less./

Hermione was pleased to note the determined set to Harry's jaw. Sitting back, she began to speak, matter-of-factly and glad to be back on topic, "All right," she began, her logical side coming out, "we know that somehow our third and second years got switched—probably because of the choice you made, Harry. We know that Pettigrew has been captured once, and has escaped. We don't know if they've gotten the chance to use Veritaserum--"

"They have," Harry interrupted softly. Hermione glanced at him in surprise. He nodded. "At least, I think so. Cedric was telling me about an article he read sometime near the beginning of last year. I'm assuming that means January. Anyway, they've declared Sirius innocent and pointed to Pettigrew as my family's Secret Keeper."

"Then we need to get a copy of that," the girl continued briskly, not giving Harry much time to dwell on it. "Hang on, let me get this down." She started hunting around in her knapsack where it sat at her feet and emerged a few seconds later with a soft, triumphant crow, holding a spiral-bound Muggle notebook and a Muggle pen. Flipping open the notebook and uncapping the pen, she started scribbling in some notes, "I'm making a checklist, Harry, of what we need or want to do. I'll give it to you in a minute to glance over what we have so far."

"Never mind that, Herm," Harry advised her softly, scooting closer, "I'll just read over your shoulder and let you know from there."

The girl blushed brightly, but nodded, adjusting the notebook in her lap so Harry could get a better view.

In Hermione's neat writing were the following items:

_Article on Sirius—does Mr. Weasley have it somewhere? Ron? Harry's trunk?_

_Second and third years somehow switched—what are the implications?_

_Pettigrew—how can he be caught?_

_Voldemort—is there a way to stop him from regaining human form? how did he come back if he was hit by the killing curse?_

_Quidditch World Cup—should we change anything more than we have already?_

_Cedric—how to keep him safe?_

_Acting skills—how to improve them?_

Harry gave an amused snort at this last one.

"Don't laugh, Harry," Hermione scolded lightly, "you could have given the whole thing away several times today. I almost did, too, so I can't talk. If we want to do this, and do this right, then we have to make sure we can, for lack of a better term, cover our arses."

Harry outright laughed at her description. Noticing she was scowling slightly at him, he hurriedly covered his laughter with a cough, but did not quite keep from grinning. Gently patting her on the shoulder, he advised quietly, "I know, Herm, and I'm sorry for laughing, but only you would phrase it, er, quite that way."

Hermione huffed, but Harry could tell she really was not all that angry with him. "Anyway," she continued, "that's what we have. Is there anything else you want me to add?"

Harry nodded seriously. "Actually, there are a few things I'd like to do and you can tell me what you think…"

In the end, several other checkpoints were added to Hermione's list:

_Gringotts and Diagon Alley; possibly Knockturn Alley—go sometime before school starts for clothing, proper year books, and school supplies; check family vaults at Gringotts and look for a new wand?_

_Occlumency—start before Fifth Year, get a book while we're at Flourish and Blotts?_

_DA—start it up a year early?_

_Remus—where is he now? How is he coping?_

By that point, Harry was starting to yawn. Hermione gave him a knowing—slightly indulgent—look. "You're still tired, aren't you?" stated more than asked.

The boy gave a sheepish smile. "Is it that obvious?"

His female best friend smirked slightly. "Just a bit. Why don't you take a short nap? If I'm right, we still have most of the morning and part of the afternoon before the game starts."

Another yawn, and Harry rubbed at his eyes, "I think I might," he mumbled, beginning to stretch in preparation for sleeping. "You don't mind do you?"

Hermione shook her head, still smiling and holding up a book she had apparently brought up with the notebook and the pen. "Not at all."

Harry chuckled, starting to lie down. "Of course not." He paused then, looking thoughtful. The girl raised an eyebrow. He smirked, then shrugged, and reversing his direction, promptly lay down with his head in a very startled Hermione's lap. "You don't mind, do you?" muttered once again as his eyes fluttered shut.

"Not at all," she squeaked, repeating herself .

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

For at least fifteen minutes afterwards, Hermione made no move to look at her book, watching Harry sleep with more ease than she had seen for the past half a year.

"_Crushing on our beloved Boy-Who-Lived, 'Mione?"_ Ginny's teasing rushed back with far too much clarity as she sat there, causing blush to blaze up on her cheeks at the most inopportune moment.

Did she have a crush on Harry? For so long—possibly since Third Year—she had thought that it was Ron, not Harry, who was the object of those…rather embarrassing emotions. But this…she had gone back in time for him—twice now, cried for him, hurt for him, kissed him, hugged him. Surely that had to say something, didn't it?

Releasing a heavy sigh, she let her shoulders drop. Hesitantly at first, then more confidently, she tenderly stroked the lengthening, messy dark hair of the boy in her lap.

She did not know. And right now, she decided, smiling warmly at Harry's peaceful countenance, she did not care.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

What both Harry and Hermione should have remembered, however, was that things rarely remain peaceful for long. Especially when one has ancient magic almost constantly working on them, exacting a price that not even its caster is aware of:

(Dream Sequence Beginning)

_Breathing heavy, he regarded his opponent with no little respect, eyeing the blonde's tired countenance._

_Not from the duel. Oh no. He was quite sure Draco Malfoy could have gone on for another hour at least. This last hour was proof enough of that._

_But the young man that faced him now, in the bowels of said young man's Manor, was not the haughty, self-righteous prick he remembered far too vividly from his schooling years. This young man was beaten down, almost broken, with a hardened edge that he had never possessed during that time of schooling. This young man was someone who had fallen so far in the darkness, that he was no longer sure if there was a light at the end of it. The blond wanted nothing to do with the chaos and insanity suffocating their world, and was an alarming mirror-image of his own inner turmoil._

_He himself wanted this to end. And so, he realized with no little shock, did Malfoy._

"_**Serpentsortia!" **__the blond ground out harshly, flicking his wand too fast to see, "__**Sectumsempra! Diffindo!**__"_

_He banished the serpent. Ducked Snape's cutting spell. And dodged the Diffindo. Then he flicked his own wand, "__**Expelliarmus!**__"_

_To his shock, the blond took the spell full on. Within moments, the other young man's wand was snatched out of his hand and sent sailing into his._

_He stared. And stared. And stared some more. The blond simply crashed to his knees, and glared defiantly up at him. "Go on, then, Potter, kill me. Torture me. Do what you will. I do not give a damn. I'd say you'll come to Hell with me," the Slytherin's voice was sharply sarcastic, "but then I'd sound far too much like a certain psychotic bastard we both love and know __**oh**__ so much."_

_He had never thought anyone could sound so bitter._

_He shook his head, and knelt down in front of the blond, justifiably irritable. "You've thrown a real wrench in my plans, you know that?" he remarked sourly. "I was supposed to duel you. We'd fight. And I'd ultimately kill you—with you damning me to Hell the whole way—or you'd kill me, and I'd do the same to you. Either way things would be comfortably black and white. But no, you had to go elusive gray on me, didn't you? No way in hell can I kill you now, Malfoy. You see my problem?" sulked._

_Draco snorted bitterly. "Should have known. Too damn Gryffindor."_

"_No," also snorted, "too damn Slytherin. What good would I get out of killing you, Malfoy? Satisfaction that a rival is vanquished? Hardly. Pride that an enemy is disposed of?" Another snort. "Please. I may be arrogant. But not __**that**__ arrogant. Besides, much as you have wasted your breath time and time again, you're still breathing. And I'm no cold-blooded murderer." He gave the blond a knowing look. "Sound familiar?"_

_Draco flushed at the pointed reminder of his inability to kill a certain Headmaster. "Damn you, Potter." The snarl would have been almost theatrical if not for the hysterical edge it carried._

_He, of course, knew why, having been subject to the __**reason**__ the blond had so thoroughly screwed up his plans. Damn. He could not even look at the other young man with the proper hatred required anymore._

_At that moment, a high-pitched cackle rent the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Horrified, both young men glanced up at the top of the stone steps where Bellatrix Lestrange stood laughing her insane head off._

"_Aunt," Draco remarked coolly, eyes narrowed._

"_Oh, Draco," saccharine sweet, "what would our Master say to this, hmm? Such a juicy tidbit—Lucius's own son, disenchanted with our cause. My, my, this __**is**__ interesting." She made her way down the dungeon steps with an obscene sort of slowness, lazily twirling her wand._

"_He is no longer any master of mine, Aunt," the blonde's remark was utterly ice, as he sneered at her._

_Not knowing why Malfoy appeared to have a death wish, but knowing what was next all the same by the witch's rapidly narrowing eyes, he immediately flicked both wands, "__**Crysalis!**__" and winced at the shriek she let out, sprinting down the last few steps and starting to cast any spell she could think of._

_Even he was surprised when they proved ineffective—those were some of the darkest, most powerful spells in __**any**__ Compendium. They merely splashed against the quickly solidifying shield._

_Not one to kick the gift horse in the mouth, he spun to face Draco, who was currently gaping at the power of the shield. "Malfoy!" the exclamation jerked the blonde's attention back to him._

_He shoved his own wand in the very startled Slytherin's hand. "Go! Apparate! I'm sure you know how."_

_Draco stared at him a full moment, before throwing the wand back at him without so much as a snarl, "I don't need it, Potter. This is my family's Manor, remember? I can circumvent the wards without a wand."_

"_Then do it!" hissed. "I don't know how much longer that shield will hold."_

"_Indefinitely, I should think, Potter," was the snort. "I must admit. I'm impressed."_

"_Will you stop blathering and get your arse out of here?" he snarled, not in the mood for a conversation at this point. "Move it, or I'll hex you!"_

"_On that note," the blond remarked sardonically, "I think I will." Then leveled him with an even stare. "You'll find Granger in one of the cells, along with Lovegood, Thomas, and numerous others. As long as that shield holds, you have time to get to them. I'll find you when I can. Much to my horror," here he shuddered dramatically, "I owe you a life debt."_

_A more familiar smirk, and then he was gone._

(End Dream Sequence)

With a loud gasp, a sweaty Harry lurched awake just as the tent flap fell shut.

"Mate??" the twins, Ron, and Ginny had apparently returned and were staring at him in no little shock.

Hermione, startled by both their entrance, and Harry's sudden movement, gave a small shriek. Which ultimately startled Harry—who then promptly fell off the bed. Another cry, this one from Ginny, and then George was diving with Fred at his side at the floor to catch the smaller Gryffindor. Only, they were a little too quick, as their magic kicked in and gave them a shove.

Unfortunately, Hermione had grabbed Harry's arm, coming back to herself as soon as he fell, and as a result, she was dragged along with him.

So ultimately, Harry ended up landing directly on top of twins, Hermione landed on top of Harry, and complete confusion and chaos greeted Mr. Weasley when he himself stepped into the tent. Straightening up, he blinked at the bizarre tableau he was presented with, "Is everything all right?"

He was utterly befuddled when all the children glanced at each other, and burst out laughing.

_Tbc._


	7. What You Make It Part 3

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., especially parts of the dialogue.

_**Reviewers:**_ Many thanks—_excessivelyperky, ACforever, Olaf74, Bookworm.Annie, Alorkin, rellenh, PK Fan, fattoad, Tombadgerlock, fraewyn, honore, acacia59601, Nymoue, rekahneko, _and_infiniteternity_

_**Rating:**_ K+/T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Seven: What You Make It (Part 3)_

Of course, when the children settled down, explanations were due.

After the man heard their story, and had his laugh—much to the embarrassment of the four who were in the pile up—the twins made good their escape, explaining to Harry, Hermione, and their younger siblings that they had spotted not just Lee Jordan, but also Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell. As well as Oliver Wood.

"All separately, of course, except for the three girls," George finished. He looked eager to see them—or, at least, Alicia. His interest in her was at least as well known as Fred's interest in one of her best friends—Angelina. Furthermore, there was always, "And Lee's promised to help us think up a few pranks for our new jokes line," in an overly loud whisper which Mr. Weasley pretended to ignore where he now sat at the kitchen table.

Folding up his copy of_ The Daily Prophet_ and standing, the head of the Weasley clan headed out to find Amos Diggory. Reminding the twins that they needed to be back to the tent by two o'clock.

When their father went out, Fred nudged his twin in the side with a grin. "Come on, can't keep the ladies waiting."

"_Au contraire_, brother mine," George protested, then winked at the three younger ones. "They're more likely to swoon at our feet that way."

"Augh!" Ginny cried, making a face. "You two are _horrid_!"

Fred smirked, patting her on the head where she sat next to Hermione (who was still on the floor). "Ah, so we are, Gin-Gin, but you see, we can't be any other way. Where's the fun in it, then?"

The younger girl rolled her eyes and scowled slightly, shaking her red-haired head. "Get moving, you great louts, before I Bat-Boogey Hex you. You know I can," threatened lightly.

"On that note," the twins both simultaneously gulped, paling and proceeding to make a hasty exit.

Harry's voice halted their progress a moment. "Fred, George, when you see Angelina and them, can you mention I have an idea I want to discuss when we get back to school?"

The two older boys turned, inquisitive enough to risk their younger sister's wrath—at least for a few minutes. "Whatever about, Harrykins?" George asked curiously.

Ginny, Ron, and even Hermione watched him with equal curiosity, although his female best friend thought she might have a guess as to what this "idea" of his was.

Harry simply smiled mysteriously. "Sorry, but you have to wait until school."

He laughed as the twins pouted at the same exact moment. Still grinning, eyes dancing, he wagged his finger at them, "Nope. Not telling."

George gave a dramatic sigh. Then perked up as a female voice suddenly sounded from outside the tent, "George? George Weasley, you better get your arse out here now!"

Apparently, Alicia (and likely her friends with her) were closer than the twins had thought. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Coming, Ali!" he called, and then darted out before any of the others could get a word in edgewise.

Fred stared mock-askance after him. "Utterly whipped," he remarked mournfully. But it should be duly noted that he exited the tent almost as quickly as his brother, leaving the three younger ones to dissolve in giggles behind him.

"Yup," Ginny observed between giggles, "most definitely whipped."

Once the boys, at least, had calmed down, Ron turned pointedly to the darker-haired boy beside him, "Soo…" he drew the word out after the twins were safely out of hearing range, eyeing Harry speculatively from where he now sat beside him on the bed. The girls were still sitting on the floor, continuing to giggle over the twins' apparent infatuations with Alicia and Angelina respectively.

Harry raised an eyebrow at his male best friend. "So?" he echoed.

Ron rolled his eyes and lightly poked the other boy in the side. "You know what I mean, Harry."

Harry twisted away with a soft laugh. "Sorry, Ron. I have to put you and Ginny in the same category as the twins. Not telling 'til we get to Hogwarts."

"Aw, dammit," the red-head groaned, "and here I thought I was your best mate."

The sixteen-turned-fourteen-year-old kept snickering. "You are, mate, but I want to keep you guessing on this one."

Ron actually pouted. "No fair. And what about Hermione?"

Said girl overheard and raised an eyebrow at him. "What about me, Ronald?"

"Nothing, nothing," he moaned, dropping back on the bed and throwing his arm over his face in mock-despair, "it's not fair that you know what Harry has planned, and I don't."

In spite of herself, Hermione started snickering again, too. "Ron, I've only a guess, so you can stop the dramatics now."

Peeking out from under his arm, Ron glowered balefully at her. "That still doesn't help."

As the girls went into another fit of giggles, Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and gently gripping the other teenager's t-shirt, hauled his male best friend upright, "Come on, Ron, knock it off. Let's play some Exploding Snap. Girls, you, too."

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Several rounds of Exploding Snap later, Ginny told them that she wanted to go meet some of her friends that she had seen that morning. Hearing that, Ron also stood to his feet. He glanced at Harry, "You want to come, mate? I saw Dean and Seamus earlier."

Harry shook his head, smiling and discreetly motioning Hermione (who had also gone to rise) to sit. "Nah. I'll catch up later, mate. Hermione and I haven't been out, yet."

At that Ginny glanced shrewdly at the older girl—who tried very hard to ignore that look. Sensing her best friend's reticence, the thirteen-year-old smirked. "That's because you fell asleep in 'Mione's lap. Care to share why?"

"Ginny!" Hermione squealed, turning bright red.

His sixteen-year-old mind quickly grasping the implications behind Ginny's statement, Harry was not long in following his female best friend's example. "It's not _like_ that!" he immediately protested.

"Of course it's not," Ginny retorted, snickering. "Didn't you know? Hermione said the same thing."

"Ginny!" That was Hermione again, and she had colored even more deeply.

Laughing, Ginny dodged for the entrance as Hermione leapt after her, dragging a slightly befuddled, but clearly amused older brother after her.

"Oy!" Harry's exclamation halted all three in place.

Still snickering, Ginny turned back towards him, "Yeah, Harry?"

"Tell Dean, Seamus, and anyone else you see what I told the twins, will you?" he asked, chuckling softly in spite of himself.

More calmly now, Ginny acknowledged, "Sure, Harry."

"Of course, mate," Ron agreed, and then added, grinning. "I can't wait to find out what this 'big secret' is, you know. But, alas, I think I'll wait."

Snickering still, Harry nodded to him, "You do that."

When brother and sister left the tent, Harry swiveled back towards Hermione, grinning.

The girl watched him thoughtfully. "DA, Harry?" she asked at last. "That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry acknowledged, his smile softening, "I figured I'd put the bug in everyone's ear and get them talking. I'd really like to start DA this year, Hermione, if we can manage it."

"I think we can. We just have to see what the others think, since Crouch _was_ a decent professor," she stated.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Decent? Maybe. Deranged? Yes."

She lightly slapped him on the shoulder, a smile creeping up onto her lips. "You know what I mean, Harry." She shook her head, "And anyway, who says _he'll_ still be the teacher? We can do something about it, you know."

Harry sighed. "I know, Hermione. But in this case, I'd rather know _exactly_ where he is and what he'll do, so I'm not surprised by it. Who knows what will happen if we catch him? He'd be sent to Azkaban, yes, but what if he escapes, or someone breaks him out? In the end of it all last time he was Kissed by the Dementor. I'd rather have him near-dead at this point than have to face him next year after he does who _knows_ what. With any luck, we can convince Dumbledore to put a counter-spell on the Goblet for the _Confundus_, and maybe even an anti-Porting ward on the Tri-Wizards' Cup."

Hermione was silent a full moment. Then, in spite of everything, smirked, "Wow, Harry, who ever thought you could be logical?"

"_Hermione_," Harry groaned, blush suddenly staining his cheeks.

The girl tittered. Then giggled. Then full out laughed. "All right, Harry! All right. We'll let it be for now. In the mean time," she eyed him meaningfully, "why don't you tell me exactly what that dream of yours was about?"

Harry balked. "What dream?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry," she crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. "Talk."

Seeing he had little choice in the matter, Harry sighed and followed her orders.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Hermione was chewing her lip when he finished. "That's no ordinary dream, Harry," she finally told him quietly some moments later.

The boy gave a light snort. "Glad you think so, too. It's nice to know I'm not losing my mind." He sighed, and flopped back on the bed in a near-imitation of Ron. "Damn," he muttered. "Why can't anything be _normal_ about me?"

"Harry, dear," Hermione advised him patiently as she perched next to him, "when has _anything_ been normal about you?"

The other Gryffindor peeled open an eye. "Hermione," he remarked dryly, "that does _not _make me feel better."

The girl warmly rolled her own eyes. "I figured as much. Bear with me, all right? I'm just trying to figure this out. Do you think Voldemort's sending you these dreams? That's the second one you've had in the past two days."

Harry shook his head. "Not unless he's started predicting the future, Mi."

She looked very interested—and rather worried—at that. "The future?"

Harry sighed again. "Everyone in those…dreams, I guess we can call them, is older than they are now, Hermione. In _both_ times. And I just feel…older, I guess. Like I know stuff that I don't know now, that something's _different_ about me. And it's not like I'm there because Voldemort's there, or because he's plotting. In fact, both times I've gotten the distinct impression that he _isn't_ there. It's nerve-wracking, actually," this part muttered. He glanced up at her, emerald eyes completely serious. "But most of all, my scar doesn't hurt."

Hermione's brown eyes stared, blinking rapidly in shock. "Not at all?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all," he confirmed softly.

She stirred uneasily in her place. "That's odd, Harry. Really odd. Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"Tell me about," the boy grumbled, rubbing at his face.

"So," she sighed, slipping an arm around his shoulders, "what do you think we should do about it?"

Harry leaned into her. "Change it," he whispered.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Hermione and Harry spent most of their time until the Weasleys returned planning how they could fix what happened in Harry's dream. Unsurprisingly, it was the girl who came up with the idea: "I know you want to call a truce. What about charming a parchment, you know, like the ones you saw at the Ministry when you went to your hearing—the paper airplanes? You can send it to him, sort of like a memo."

Harry stared at her a full two minutes before exclaiming with a wide grin, "Brilliant, Hermione!"

They set to work, making sure it appealed to its intended reader, as Harry knew the blond would only buy this if he received something in return. Like any proper Slytherin.

He had it now, charmed and complete, discreetly fingering it where he hid the parchment in his jacket's pocket, following Ron up the stairs to their seats in the Quidditch stands.

"Blimey, Dad!" Ron huffed. "How far up _are_ we?"

Around his neck, Harry wore the pair of omnioculars he had snagged just before they entered, as well as wore the Bulgarian regalia that the twins had insisted he should to buy, although Fred and George themselves wore Irish colors.

Hermione had her Irish scarf, as did Ginny, although the younger girl also had the Bulgarian hat. Both carried omnioculars Harry had made a point of buying for them, and Ron wore his own—which, incidentally, he had paid for himself, although Harry already knew what he would be getting the red-head for Christmas. The other fourteen-year-old boy wore Bulgaria's colors, too.

At that moment, before Mr. Weasley had the chance to respond, the voice he had anticipated hearing all afternoon unfortunately spoke up, "Put it this way," everyone glanced down to where Lucius Malfoy stood with Draco, both dressed in all black and the older of the two peering up at them in mock-sympathy, "if it rains, you'll be the first to know." He smirked.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley acknowledged icily, pulling back Fred and George who looked about ready to vault the rail, four-foot drop between the two pathways or not.

Their group started walking, and the Malfoys started walking. Harry had to remember to act irritated as Draco prattled on:

"Father and I are in the Minister's box," the other boy crowed, and Harry noticed with some bemusement that it actually sounded more excited than haughty or snobbish, "by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself!"

With a soft snort, Harry shook his head, carefully withdrawing the charmed parchment he and Hermione had worked on earlier today as they continued to walk. He had to plan this right. If Draco was indeed as genuine as he seemed in his…dream, and was indeed as genuine as he seemed now, then the last thing he wanted was to attract the senior Malfoy's attention. If he _wasn't_…well, then, Harry would make very sure he had cover (from Hermione) and at least three escape routes.

That duel in his dream had, if nothing else, instilled a healthy respect in Harry for his rival's dueling capabilities, and they _really_ did not need to erupt into a duel in the middle of the Quidditch World Cup.

"Don't _boast_, Draco," Lucius Malfoy's silky voice re-entered the conversation as he popped the boy none too lightly in the stomach with the serpent's head of his cane (which, as Harry knew, held his wand), bringing both groups to a halt. He sneered up at them. "There's no need with these people."

Harry knew what would happen next, and he knew what he had to do—but he had to do it deliberately, without giving away anything. So deliberately, he turned away, following Ron's lead.

Lucius Malfoy did not disappoint.

Hissing as the crooked head of man's cane slammed down—hard—on his wrist, Harry turned slowly to coolly regard the older man. Malfoy senior gave a barely perceptible start, and he was pleased to note the slight flicker of uncertainty that entered the man's eyes.

Then the older blond masked it and remarked idly, almost gleefully, "_Do_ enjoy yourself Mr. Potter," he drawled, then leered at Hermione, causing Harry's hackles to rise, "while you can."

He gave a _tch_ and a very unsettling wink, before releasing Harry and stalking off.

Draco smirked at them, starting to follow his father, and Harry chose that moment to act. "Oy! Malfoy!" he called, and gave a very brief nod to Hermione, who cautiously slid her wand out of her sleeve, tip pointing out and directly at the Fourth Year Slytherin.

When Draco turned back, sneer on his face, he was hit directly between the eyes with the charmed parchment Harry had blown. When he scowled, and wrenched it away from his face, the Gryffindor merely smirked, "Consider it pay back for Second Year," while inwardly praying the other boy would at least spare it half a glance.

Draco gave a wordless snarl before proceeding to do more than just that—he read it. Startled. Blanked his face. And read it again, narrowing his eyes:

_Malfoy:_

_Clearly, I don't like you, and you don't like me. If I ever will, that's debatable. But I'd rather deal with your pompous arse than fling curses across a battle field or across a manor dungeon. Look at it this way—one less enemy for you, and one less enemy for me, that way we both benefit. If that's not enough, think what bloody Saint Potter might be able to do for you if we declare a truce. If you agree to this, meet me after the game at the souvenir stall, the one farthest from the west entrance of the pitch. Come _ALONE.

_Potter_

Raising his head, he narrowed his gray-silver eyes even more, the intensity of his gaze piercing through Harry, trying to figure out, in all likelihood, whether this was some sort of joke. Harry let him, undergoing the blonde's scrutiny without so much as a twitch, keeping his face clear of deception and utterly serious, surprised by how badly he wanted this to work.

Gradually, Draco's face cleared of all emotion once again and the Slytherin gave him a very slight nod.

Harry released a breath he had not realized he had been holding and nodded back. Then Draco turned and stalked off, much like his father. Harry was pleased to see, however, that he safely tucked the note away into an inner pocket of his own jacket.

Once the blond was out of sight, the Gryffindor heaved an even bigger sigh—this one of relief—and nodded to Hermione as his shoulders relaxed and a delighted grin stole across his face. Very discreetly, the girl tucked away her wand before coming over to Harry and shaking her head in fond disbelief. "You are absolutely something else, Harry," she remarked quietly.

The boy gave a small, pleased smirk and shrugged as the two of them continued on their way up the grandstands.

"Mate, what the bloody hell was _that_ about?" Ron demanded lowly as he gained Harry's shoulder.

The raven-haired Fourth Year winced slightly, but simply stated, "A proposition. You'll see when we head to Hogwarts, Ron. Don't ask me anymore—I'm not even sure this'll work."

"Oh, great, _another_ thing I have to wait for," he groused softly.

"Leave it, Ron," Harry warned quietly.

The other boy did not look happy, but even through his mild scowl, he nodded.

Harry sighed. "Thanks, mate."

He knew, once Ron found out he had proposed a truce with—of all people—Draco Malfoy, there would be hell to pay. But he could live with it if it meant more peace of mind when the time came for him to go head to head with Voldemort. With any luck, things would work out—for the better, he hoped.

_Tbc._


	8. Testing the Boundaries

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., especially parts of the dialogue.

_**Note:**_ About Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott: these three Slytherins will be portrayed quite differently in some instances than they are in J.K. Rowling's books. I have plans for them—and Morag McDougal—later on in this book/fiction set that are not compatible with some aspects of their canon characters. Just a heads up ::grins::!

_**Rating:**_ K+/T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eight: Testing the Boundaries_

Harry enjoyed himself entirely too much, second time around though this was. The end result of the Quidditch match, inevitably, occurred in the same way it had before—the Irish won the Cup, but Viktor Krum caught the Snitch. This time around, he had paid almost exclusive attention to the Seekers, dutifully recording everything on his omnioculars—although when several spectacular plays occurred in other areas of the Pitch, he remembered to record those, too.

He was grinning widely by the time the game concluded, his mind already zipping through all he and Cedric could discuss as they slowly trickled out of the stands, and down into the vendors' area of the stadium. Harry found he was looking forward to their conversation immensely.

But one thing had to be taken care of first. "Fred, George, a moment, please?" He caught each of their sleeves, casting a meaningful look at Hermione.

The girl caught on, nodding that she understood, and made to grab Ron's own sleeve to drag him away. But the younger red head ignored her, glancing narrow-eyed between Harry and his twin brothers. "What's going on?"

/Uh-oh. Time for those acting skills,/ Harry thought. He grinned evilly, but with good-natured humor lurking at the back of his emerald eyes, "Sure you wanna know, Ron?"

The other Fourth Year paled and gulped audibly. Spinning around on heel, Ron grabbed both Ginny's and Hermione's hands and started quickly dragging them off. "Come on, girls, let's catch up with Dad."

Ginny sent a half-irritated, half-amused scowl in her youngest brother's direction as he towed her along, while Hermione used that moment to shoot Harry an approving look, knowing she had gotten through to him earlier today.

The boy tipped his head in acknowledgement.

At that precise moment, George turned him to face two very shrewd-looking twins. When they felt like it, the twins could be almost as clever and cunning as Snape. "So, Harrykins, what's this about? I know you didn't just hold us back for a prank—though, should you require our services, we'd be happy to oblige," the younger twin offered, smirking slightly.

Harry grinned. He should have expected this. "You know, you'd have made wonderful Slytherins."

Two faintly green twins took one arm each and marched a laughing Harry off to a more secluded corner. "Nothing against Snape, mate," George muttered uneasily, "but can you _see_ us pal-ing around with Flint and them?"

"Just an observation," Harry informed the twins wryly, amused.

Shaking his head in exasperation, the older twin gently released him. Harry's smile faded as he gestured for the two to lean in close. "I need your help," stated seriously.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Ten minutes later, two satisfyingly gob smacked twins pulled back. "So _where_ are you supposed to be meeting him?" Fred barely managed to sputter out.

"Near the souvenir stand by the West Entrance," the younger boy replied, shrugging easily. "Like I said, I want you and George nearby for back up just in case this doesn't work. But you _can't_ let on you know I'm meeting him. I told him to come alone. But I'd also have to be an idiot to think that he doesn't have back up, too, in some form or another."

"And you said _we_ were the Slytherins?" George remarked admiringly, speaking up for the first time. "Harrykins, I'd venture to say that you're more Slytherin than the two of us put together."

Harry scowled lightly at the nickname, and then grinned at the rest of the reply. "Don't tell Ron, but the Sorting Hat nearly put me there First Year."

"_What_?" the two twins squawked.

Harry rolled his eyes, still grinning, and started dragging them off. "Come on."

George was shaking his head as they were towed along. "I shouldn't be surprised," he was muttering, "I shouldn't. But still!"

Harry just laughed, and pulled them through the West Entrance. Among the mass exodus of wizards and witches, many still arguing, exclaiming, or chatting about the game, no one noticed Harry Potter and Fred and George Weasley slipping and winding their way through the crowd, or else they would have been a great deal more hindered than they were.

The youngest of the three halted them about ten meters away from the farthest souvenir stand, right near the betting and convenience stands. Malfoy was already there, pretending to browse, but Harry knew he was most likely scanning the crowd. So Harry did the same—and soundlessly pointed out to the twins, not Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle, surprisingly, but Blaise Zabini near one of the closer souvenir stands. The dark-haired, dark-skinned boy appeared to be doing the same as Draco—browsing. But Harry noticed he constantly kept one eye on Draco at all times and always had his wand in his hand. He had not noticed them yet.

Wordlessly, Fred and George nodded and made to move towards the other Slytherin, slipping their own wands out, when Harry again caught their sleeves, "Whatever you do, don't curse Malfoy," hissed softly into their ears.

The twins pouted. "Not even just a little?" Fred wheedled.

Harry choked back more laughter at their woebegone countenances. "Nope. Sorry."

"Blast it," Fred muttered while George asked softly, "Why not, Harry?"

The younger Gryffindor smiled slightly at the younger twin, then turned that smile as it widened a bit to the older one. "Your family already has enough to deal with, George. I know Malfoy has always been a git to you, but that's mostly because of his father. It's expected of him. After all, the Malfoy heir wouldn't be caught dead with—excuse the term—'blood traitors.'"

At the twins' startled expressions, Harry's smile saddened. "Yes, I know what Mr. Malfoy calls your family. But you know, I haven't yet heard Draco do the same." /At least,/ Harry amended in his mind/not at this point./ He shook his head. "Besides, Malfoy senior may be a bastard, but he has connections and won't hesitate to use them. And that's the _last_ thing your family needs."

George and Fred watched him steadily for a few moments, their eyes quite a bit more serious than they had been. Harry did not know what they were looking for, but he gazed back, undaunted, and blinked expectantly at them. At last, George murmured shaking his head, "You've changed, Harry. I don't know when, but…"

The younger boy shrugged helplessly, trying very hard not to belay how nervous that statement made him. "I've had a rough summer of it, George."

The older twin released a heavy sigh, relenting. "I know, Harry. Unfortunately, we know that very well." He patted the fourteen-year-old's shoulder with a similarly sad smile to the one Harry had used a moment before.

Fred slung an arm around his shoulders, gazing down with equal seriousness and sorrow at him. "We won't attack Malfoy, Harry," he promised. Then his eyes hardened. "But if he so much as lifts his wand against you…"

Harry winced. "I get the idea."

"Just so long as you know, Harrykins," Fred remarked, patting him on the head and eliciting another scowl for both the nickname and the action.

This time the twins really did grin. "We'll be around…"

Harry finally grinned back and rolled his eyes as they ambled in Zabini's direction. "Being around" likely meant keeping a hawk's eye on him. But what could he do? They were his self-proclaimed big brothers, and as big brothers often do, they would not let him out of their sight for long.

Checking his shirt's sleeve for his own wand where he'd attached it to his wrist with two strips of cloth, Harry started maneuvering towards Malfoy.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Draco Malfoy was everything people thought he wasn't. He did not like Muggles, but that's because he knew what they could do. Last year, he'd had the misfortune of seeing a mother and child struck down by what he learned later (by careful searching) was a gun. A metal tube, a crack as loud as Apparition, and blood. Wizards had nothing like it. And he was very heartily glad they did not.

It was barbaric. Unclean, painful, and sudden.

Yes, there were spells he knew that weren't much better, but something like _that_ he simply could not stomach.

Brought up in a family who served Dark Lords, the first magic he learned, of course, was dark magic. By the time he entered Hogwarts, he knew more hexes and jinxes than any first year—unless you were Slytherin or even Ravenclaw—should, and had had two of the three Unforgivable Curses cast on him: the _Imperius_ by his father, and the _Cruciatus_ by his Uncle Rudolphus. So he understood, they said, and left it at that.

The _Cruciatus_ had been cast on him when he was eight. He had steered clear of his Uncle ever since, especially since, when she found out, his mother had hexed his uncle so hard that he landed in St. Mungo's for at least a week.

His father hadn't said anything. Draco rather thought that he agreed with his uncle, but did not quite dare mention it in the presence of his wife. His father did not need to be happy about it, though, and his mouth always went tight when the incident was brought up.

Draco remained wary of him, however, which was why he had not gone straight to his father with Potter's letter in the first place.

Nor had he told his mother, for one very simple, very good reason—Draco Malfoy was intrigued, and more than half-willing to go through with Potter's proposal.

His father touted blood supremacy. After watching the Muggle and her child die, Draco could see no difference between their blood…and his own. It made him start to think about Potter—a half-blood—and Granger. Yes, he'd called her a 'mudblood' last year, but that, mostly because it was expected of him in front of his Housemates. There was indignation, too—his father honestly had bought the team brooms, but only after Draco went through the grueling process of making Seeker. In his view, he had _earned_ the better broom, and worked hard to earn it, too. That Granger had accused him of _buying_ his way onto the team...Suffice it to say, he was too angry to watch his mouth.

Draco was not stupid. He knew the Muggleborns brought fresh blood and, yes, stronger magic, into a world that sorely needed it. He just did not like the idea of being in contact with the Muggleborns' _families_, not if they were going to shoot him on the spot.

Slytherins valued self-preservation, and for Draco, that meant avoiding Muggles.

Most of all, however, Draco was not a slave. He was proud, perhaps a bit haughty, and valued his dignity. What was dignified about bowing to a madman who would curse you as a reward?

Nor was he a killer. Just the thought made him sick, and the fact that his _father _had killed—

"Penny for your thoughts, Malfoy?"

It took Draco every shred of his considerable control not to jump at the low voice that spoke up from beside him.

As he cautiously swung his head up and around, his shoulders tensed as he caught sight of Potter calmly watching him from where he leaned against the side of the vendor's stall.

Immediately, his fingers clenched around the wand secreted in his sleeve and he schooled his features to a look of indifference.

"Potter," he acknowledged coolly, "do you make a habit of doubling as a vulture?"

Harry smirked, amused. He didn't tell the blond that he'd been standing beside him for the past five minutes. "Not really. 'Sides, I haven't quite got the Snoopy look down."

A flicker of curiosity made it past the Slytherin's tight mask, and without really meaning to, he relaxed slightly. "Snoopy?" asked carefully.

"Never mind. American-Muggle thing." Tugging at the other fourteen-year-old's sleeve as he noticed the seller scowling at them, Harry gave a small nod in the direction of a nearby alcove when Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow at him. Bending close, pretending to look over the merchandise, he muttered, "I think that chap's starting to get impatient."

Draco deliberately looked up at the disgruntled vendor and sneered. The man, apparently just realizing who his customers were, paled dramatically, and hastily made his way over to the end of his stand that was farthest from Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

The blond turned to an impressed Harry, smirking lightly as if to say, _See. That's how it's __**supposed**__ to be done._

In spite of himself, the other boy snickered and gently dragged Malfoy over to the alcove he had earlier indicated. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should consider how Zabini would react to that—hell, how the_ twins_ would react to it—but he was banking on Malfoy's having told Zabini something similar to what Harry himself had told Fred and George.

"You're bloody useful, Malfoy," Harry spoke up with another smirk once they were safely screened from prying ears—though not eyes, as he saw. Zabini was now at the souvenir stand they had just left, as were the twins.

At Malfoy's nonplussed expression, the Gryffindor actually grinned. "I won't need to worry about escaping the press, you'll just sneer at them and they'll leave me alone—they'll leave you alone, too, of course, but that's just an added bonus."

His remark was unexpected enough that it surprised an appreciative snort out of the Slytherin. He was even more pleased to note that Malfoy had relaxed, and no longer looked as if he would hex Harry at any moment.

Although he would have to be an idiot, indeed, to believe that he was home free. Casting a surreptitious glance over the other boy, he noticed the tip of a wand peeking out of the blonde's sleeve.

Flexing his wrist slightly, he felt his own wand drop into his palm and took in a deep breath. Here came the hard part.

"Malfoy."

He waited until the blond nodded to him, and directly met the Slytherin's eyes. Keeping their eyes firmly locked, he spoke clearly, "I'm going to cast a notice-me-not charm. It's nowhere near as effective as an Invisibility Cloak, but it's enough to redirect unwanted attention." He gave a friendly smirk. "I'd appreciate it if Zabini didn't hex me."

This time, none of the vaunted Malfoy composure could prevent him from blanching.

Harry grinned slightly, still determinedly keeping his emerald eyes locked with Draco's silver ones. "You're a Slytherin, Malfoy. I was nearly _put_ in Slytherin. I'd have to be blind not to see Zabini shadowing you. Of course," his grin widened a bit, "I have the Weasley twins shadowing me, so it all evens out. They won't attack you—unless you pull your wand on me, that is. But I'd prefer to say what I want to say before I receive a stunner in the back."

An utterly flabbergasted Malfoy, however, managed only one coherent question, "You were nearly put in _Slytherin_?"

Harry grinned again, very amused. Whoever thought one innocuous comment could ruffle the usually unflappable Draco Malfoy? "Yes, Malfoy," the raven-haired Fourth Year replied patiently, "Slytherin. You know, the House whose mascot is a snake? The House that _you've_ lived in for the past three years, incidentally."

When Malfoy recovered enough to scowl at him, the Gryffindor laughed softly. "Glad to have you back with me. Now, about Zabini?"

Draco gave himself a firm shake. "Potter, unless your wand is very obviously pointing at me, you don't need to worry about a stunner." He smirked, gaining back some ground. "Just a very painful hex which will probably cause you to lose at least two limbs."

The other teenager scowled lightly, but rolled his eyes and cast the charm. With the charm in place, he turned expectantly to the blond across from him who had kept his eyes steadily on him the entire time. "There. I'm sure you have questions. I'll answer them as well as I can."

The blond heard what was unspoken: _If I think it's necessary_.

Despite his reluctance to trust Potter, Draco couldn't help feeling a grudging respect for his rival. Seeing this Potter—the cautious and clever one—made everything, _including_ the other boy's proposed truce, seem that much more plausible.

The Malfoy heir tucked his wand away.

_Tbc._


	9. Mending Broken Bridges

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., especially parts of the dialogue.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you to all my patient reviewers, every review is appreciated!

_**Note #1:**_ I'm not entirely happy with the way this chapter turned out, and my writing skills (as you can probably see) are a bit rusty—I haven't written new fanfiction material in a while. I might revise this after watching my _Goblet of Fire _and _Order of the Phoenix_ DVDs, but for now I'm posting this version. I apologize for the lengthy wait—between Student Teaching and Writer's Block this was one hell of a chapter to get done. But done it is and please enjoy it as best you can!

_**Note #2:**_ About Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott: these three Slytherins will be portrayed quite differently in some instances than they are in J.K. Rowling's books. I have plans for them—and Morag McDougal—later on in this book/fiction set that are not compatible with some aspects of their canon characters. Just a heads up :grins:!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Pairings:**_Harry/Hermione

_**Summary:**_ _'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'_—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Telepathic Speech'**_

_New Dawn_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Nine: Mending Broken Bridges_

Leaning against the wall of their secluded niche after sheathing his wand, the blond crossed his arms over his chest and leveled Harry with a hard stare. "Why?" abrupt and an eerie echo of another certain Slytherin's question last night.

Harry shrugged helplessly, shifting slightly from foot to foot, and the other teen tensed. Rolling his eyes tolerantly, he gave a wry smile. "Relax, Malfoy, my wand is pointing at the ground. As I said in the note, I don't want to fight you," the smile turned into a small smirk, "at least, not on opposite sides of a battlefield." /Which, incidentally, happens to look a lot like a dungeon underneath your manor, although how I knew _that_ is a mystery/ the Gryffindor thought and didn't say.

The other fourteen-year-old's eyes narrowed. "What are you on about, Potter? Last year you would have quite willingly hexed me regardless of whose side I was on."

Harry winced, rubbing his face. "Yeah. I know. Don't remind me."

This time, the blond scowled. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Malfoy…you're a git and a bloody arse, but that does _not_ mean I want to fight you as Auror and Death Eater, or some such thing." He opened his eyes and lowered his hand, glaring right back. "That fight," he retorted tersely, "will be a fight to the death. I'm aware your father runs in not-so-savory circles, and that you're expected to follow him, but I don't _want_ that!"

With a start, Harry realized his voice had risen at some point and he fell silent, unsure. Clenching his hands at his sides, he lowered his head, brow furrowing. /Why do I care so much?/ he wondered. /Residue from the dream, or--?/

That thought, however, cut off when he noticed Malfoy's reaction.

The Slytherin looked stunned.

Inwardly, Harry groaned again. /I bet I can guess his next question./

Of course, the other teenager had to _ask_ it first. And that did not appear to be happening anytime soon.

With a tired sigh, wanting to finish this interview before either of them were missed (well, mainly Malfoy), he cautiously reached out and rested his hand on the blonde's shoulder.

Malfoy must have jumped a mile.

Biting back a laugh, Harry gave a warm smirk. "Good, I thought I broke you a minute there."

Malfoy scowled a bit at him, but Harry could tell he was still rather flabbergasted. Then the question came, "Why do you care? Why do you bloody care at _all_?"

It was just on the solid side of tremulous.

Harry gave him a sharp look for that. "Malfoy?"

Slytherins did not lose composure over something as simple as this. It simply wasn't done. But this, for Draco, and for his friends, wasn't simple. "No one else cares except Sev—Professor Snape. Why do _you_?"

His gray-silver eyes locked on Harry's, demanding an answer, weighted with possibility. His answer to this question, Harry realized, would decide the nature of their interactions from here on out. All or nothing.

That didn't seem like the Slytherin way, but—as Harry now understood—his desire and his reasoning to call a truce was about more than simply being Slytherin and being Gryffindor. Frankly, it could be the difference between life and death.

So he answered as Harry, and not as Harry the Gryffindor, or Harry the Boy-Who-Lived. Just Harry: "Because I choose to."

The rest was up to Malfoy now.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

To say Draco was dumbfounded would be an understatement. He'd expected some typically Gryffindor response: "Because I'm foolishly naïve and I want to," or "Because I'm an idiot who trusts too easily," or some such (well, not those exact words, but still…). He'd even be able to handle a Slytherin one: "Who wants another enemy?" or "You can do something for me in return"—that sort.

He had _not_ expected "Because I bloody well choose to."

That did not fit Draco's carefully constructed framework of the world, and he was at a loss how to respond. But somewhere in the part of him that wanted nothing more than to live his life as he saw fit—a part he'd started neatly and methodically suppressing—that statement resonated deep within and filled him with a sense of freedom that he'd never thought he'd have a chance to experience.

It—and Potter—had offered him a choice, an escape, a way off the downward spiraling path he'd always believed he would have to follow.

And he rose stunningly to the occasion.

With a smirk and a flourish, Draco withdrew his wand again. Before Harry could go on the offensive, he pointed it directly at his own chest and stated clearly, "I, Draconus Abraxius Malfoy, do hereby declare allegiance to Harold James Potter. _So mote be it_."

A swirl of gold came out of his wand and flew to Harry who had long since begun gaping at him. He managed to close his mouth in enough time to utter faintly, "I accept." After the gold whorl entered his body, as well as his wand, his tongue unlocked, "Malfoy!" he spluttered. "What the bloody hell was _that _about? Don't you realize--"

"Potter," his last name, spoken far more calmly, cut into what would have been a diatribe on the idiocy of swearing something like that when it was unlikely he would be able to keep it—not if he wanted to protect himself. "I'm Slytherin, remember? Yes, that was an Unbreakable Vow, but _because_ it was an Unbreakable Vow, it protects me _as well as_ you. If I become a Death Eater—and, yes, Potter, that seems unavoidable at this point—then no matter what _I will still be loyal to you_. And no matter what Moldy Warts—what, Potter, you think I actually _like_ the bastard?" For Harry had started gaping again at this completely irreverent way of referring to Voldemort.

Shaking his head, Harry frowned fiercely at the other fourteen-year-old. "Malfoy, you sodding idiot! Voldemort is a trained _Legilimens_! In under a minute he'd be able to tell that you're a traitor to his cause!"

Draco raised an eyebrow at his outburst, smirking slightly in amusement. "You _did_ do this correctly, didn't you, Potter?"

Harry flushed at the inadvertent reminder that he was not supposed to know about Legilimency or Occlumency just yet.

Fortunately, Draco misinterpreted it. "You would have made a fair Slytherin, Potter, but these Gryffindor tendencies really must stop—I'm actually starting to like you." The blond smirked a bit more widely at the look of abject horror that covered the raven-haired teen's face.

Harry groaned again and gave it up as a bad job. He shook his head once more, and fixed the Slytherin with a hard look. "Can that Unbreakable Vow protect your mind? And what about Veritaserum or the Veritas spell? You _know_ there's any number of ways Voldemort can get at you."

"Merlin, Potter, the way you're talking you'd think he'd appear at any minute." But a troubled, clouded look flitted across the blonde's face.

Harry, for his part, wondered vaguely if the other boy knew something about Voldemort that he (supposedly) didn't. "Malfoy, I need to know." /Or else I've put you in a hell of a lot more danger than I first thought./

Draco, frustratingly, did not answer—not the way Harry wanted him to, anyway. "You need to know a lot of things, Potter. Whether it does is not something you need to worry about right now."

Harry tried—and failed—to find some sort of implied insult to his intelligence in that remark. And although his thoughts differed on the latter part of the blonde's statement, he bit his tongue and held his peace. Malfoy, obviously, had something he needed to say.

The Slytherin bit his bottom lip, face paler than normal, and looked pensive for a few seconds, before finally snapping his gray-silver eyes up to lock with Harry's.

The raven-haired teen nearly took a startled step back at the intense look he was leveled with.

They stared at each other for a few moments, and Harry grew uneasy as more time passed and the Slytherin said nothing. He had no idea what was going on behind the blonde's gray gaze and would not risk shattering the tenuous peace they had established between themselves by attempting a (likely botched) _Legilimens_ spell. He'd have to trust Malfoy's intentions.

Well aware of the Slytherin's skills, that was not an easy task for Harry.

Malfoy must have seen something he liked in the Gryffindor's face, however. A second later, he blew out a long breath, visibly relaxing. Drawing himself up to his full 5'5" height, he pressed his lips together and gazed evenly at the other fourteen-year-old. "Harry," and Harry reeled at the sudden usage of his first name, "listen, it isn't safe here for you—for Granger, either."

"What?" Harry rapped out, utterly stunned, drawing a total blank when he knew he should be well aware of what Draco was trying to say.

"Shut up a minute and listen. You obviously know what a Death Eater is. Do you know what they do?"

Harry knew he should shake his head, lie, but in the face of what Malfoy was offering, he could only nod dumbly, realizing suddenly with crystal clarity what the blond was getting at. /No way. He can't _possibly_…!/

The line the blond had pressed his lips into thinned. "Then you know what would happen if they suddenly appeared in a place like this, with Muggles and Muggleborns and half-bloods."

/Damn, I knew he was serious when he gave that Unbreakable Vow, but _this_ serious?/

"You also know what they would do to you given half the chance."

Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a slight flicker of concern dart in the gray-silver eyes of the Slytherin before just as quickly disappearing. /Sweet Merlin, what happened to the Malfoy I _thought_ I knew? What the hell is going to happen now?/

He needed to speak with Hermione. That much was clear. Something in Malfoy had drastically altered, just in the ten minutes they had been talking. Already, the Malfoy heir that stood in front of him was following an entirely different path than the one he remembered. And, not for the first time since this whole crazy adventure began, he found himself worrying about what was to come.

/Even the smallest change can alter Destiny's course. That's what Nefertiti said. I guess it's true./

Drawing in a deep breath and allowing the tension in his shoulders to lax, Harry nodded. Worrying about this now would get him nowhere. So he straightened, and raised an eyebrow at his companion, a grin threatening to appear on his lips. "Basically, what you're trying to say is 'thank you' and 'be careful,' right?"

Malfoy started sputtering. "You...You're absolutely mad, Potter."

Promptly, he glanced away; glaring at something only he could see. Harry, however, caught the faint tinge of blush on his pale cheeks as his hands curled themselves into his sleeves.

The Gryffindor smirked, shadowed though it was by worry. "You're a horrible liar, Malfoy." The blond immediately spun to face him. At the furious frown the other boy sent in his direction, Harry let out a small chuckle. "Never mind. What if I said 'you're welcome' and 'I promise?'"

Malfoy snorted, but gave a nod. "I don't know exactly what my father has planned, Potter. I just know it's something. Make sure Granger and the Weasleys know it, too." His gray-silver eyes took on a glint of steel. "Potter, make sodding _sure_ you keep that promise of yours. I'll delay my father as long as possible, but there's no bloody way I can--"

Harry grinned slightly and stepped up to the blond, interrupting him. Laying a hand on the Slytherin's shoulder, he gently squeezed it. When Malfoy half-heartedly snarled at him, he merely responded, "I will."

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Really, it would have been much simpler to say good-bye, shake hands, and walk away. They could pretend this had never happened, that they merely met, exchanged a few words, and decided to a truce, nothing resembling a _friendship_, certainly…

Where the difficulty lay, however, was in the fact that Harry did not think all Malfoy had done for him—_Draco_, he supposed now—could fall under the title of "truce."

But Merlin, what the bloody hell could he _say_?

With a sigh, he held out his hand to Draco. "So…we agree? No dueling, hexing, or insulting, and we're both careful? I'll do my best to shut up Ron; if you could--"

Draco smirked a bit, and Harry was absurdly grateful for the return of at least _some_ normalcy. "Don't worry about Granger, Potter. I think I can manage something. As for Weasley…that might be a bit harder. The most I can offer right now is to ignore him." His eyes hardened. "But if he so much as steps out of line…"

Harry rolled his eyes with a good-natured grimace. "Trust me, I got it. Anyway," he brought his eyes back on-level with the blonde's and smiled a bit, once more holding out his hand, "agreed?"

The other teenager stared at it a few minutes before taking in a deep breath and releasing it. He took a couple of steps forward and grasped Harry's outstretched hand, firmly shaking it as he met the Gryffindor's emerald eyes. "Agreed."

_Tbc._


End file.
